A poem inspired by The Muse of Cold Earth.
Two Incomes
I began to weep
My worker’s hands torn and shredded with broken calluses
Is this everything we can be
Ships stationed at a dock, dreaming of the ocean?
I canter softly across the deck and take my place at your side, the horizon
Is a deep throat, leading into night and
Despite everything I smile
Your hands are cold like the crypt, clutched to my chest
And there’s no nightmare that could suffice
No wound that could bleed enough of the poison out
No vaccine that could replace my inherent element
But these nightmares I have sworn to you
As a tithe to the house of the Lord
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