I am dying, Lord, of thirst. The tap won’t run;
the tub I filled with water’s nearly dry.
Why have you forsaken me? Down
came the power grid in a cascade of failures
when solar flares auroraed the skies of LA,
Miami, Quito. I’m out of canned wild salmon
and tamarind candy. And your fluids I crave,
Gregory-tested, –approved, moon-colored,
from the enema that leaves me windswept
as a dune. As the rule of law. Looters are
storming the floors below. Before my last breath
one more wish: mend my soul. Stare
down my lust till it burns away like mist.
Or shackle, suckle me with eternity, I’d be chaste.