Scum Wedding

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem

The moon does not have magic over love

Betrayed.  The powers of that moon are hate

And slaughter, murder, vengeance —  each above

The pock-marked treason which must bring blood’s fate.

The bride still wearing wedding gear takes in

The pearl-colored seed, the moon-hued seed

The lover rammed inside her hued like sin,

Like craters on the ravaged moon.  Her need,

Her sin was frantic like far earthquake spheres

That split apart as far away from grooms

As Black Holes in a galaxy that jeers

Destruction colored like his dark star’s dooms.

  The leavings of catastrophe are ash,

    A spiral of starred beauty turned to trash.