ahmadi

roaring fountains spew poisons

ignited by invaders.

the dark drizzle stains the midmorning sun.

twisting heads explore the trees

as a ghost craving light reaches for fruit.

we spill, covering the sea,

the air, and the land.

the true cost of oil is a demon

who rode a black horse,

body glistening in acid rain.

he will ride far beyond the night

into the black snows of our flattened cities.

increasing carcinogens contend with bureaucracy,

under the control room,

where sunday was blown to smithereens

within earshot of 17 children.

how do you get them clean?

we try.

still we are never clean.