On Guilt

 

On my head is
bellyfuls of plastic that’s
the size of Texas strewn with
corpses of plastic bottles beached
and skewered for their spotted
fur because the warm old glow
of vanishing elephants is worth its
weight in miles driven miles and
miles and miles of gray ribbon out
west because it’s our dream and
became everyone’s dream drowning
babies and continents raining
fire down on weddings and scraping
off the orange from orangutan
mothers butterflies are confused and
flying the wrong way and all this
is on my head.

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