The Wilful Termination Of A Wasteland Poem by C.D. Xiang

Into my asinine mouth there came
inadvertently the polluted air, the wasteland where

I stand, greasy and with diaphoresis
through the mist, in solitude.

There was no valleys, no refuges or escapisms
to tell a redress from the catalyst.

Morning fog thick as an oblong book
exacerbates my spleen in its burgeoning growth.

Demises relishes a man, I
was like a decrepit one, going to leave and to the inferno.

Phosphorescent glows are looming, to explode
overhead and the like, diminishing the wasteland and me.

--Copyrighted--