By J.R. MacLean
Peterborough, ON
wormy plague
insinuates the lungs
we gasp we grasp
for breaths that should be
deep and replete with joy
but inhale only the tasteless chalk
of distraction.
we turn away from the day
forsaking the aching
feel of the real
driven by cars that char
the hurricane hoarking lungs
of a planet losing patience
with violated beauty.
the plague is an act of restraint
the cut worm of forgiveness,
sending us home to roam
boring space that is the intersection
of history and forever that is
the lethal potency of atomized despair
crying come back to me my children:
I am the fire that liberates the seeds
from serotinous cones
on the forest floors
of your distracted hearts.
the invisible rose,
Copyright © J.R. MacLean, 2020