Children of Sibera


My grandmother told me a story once
upon a time when the cars and the trucks of the
road were tawdry men and when a
plague turned the Western Lands crusty
and dry and the only things wet and sumptuous
were the trees and the leaves and the blooms for bees and
the men began to thirst and so
they learned to gnaw at the green vines
until they were mush to be SWallowed.
They cut the stems of roses with the thorns and sipped
from their veins until each flower
bled and had bleached from red to white.
They stripped bark from trees and scraped
The sap with their teeth and sucked on their tongues.
They did this until all the plants withered into
desert wrinkles so the men became desperate
and craved the rain so they begged the clouds to weep
and so the sky laughed at the men.
Others took rocks and chipped at the dirt
and began licking the ground with blistered mouths,
Sandpaper crisscrossing against jagged cedar.
When there was nothing left and when
the sun was relentless with its whippings,
they all made wells out of their penises
until their piss was tanner than their sweltered
backs and poisoned their innards into a salty curd.
They peeled their skin and they squeezed pus from their moles
until they drained themselves into raisins
and were fed by the Gods to the armadillos.

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