THE FUTILITY OF ROCKS

rocks don't care    
all stubble and stones    
about difficult geometry    
   
if they don't fit    
they are hammered    
and    
crushed to rubble    
jammed together to make virile walls    
and if stabbed with swords    
care not about    
torn bellies and broken necks    
soaking them crimson rust    
or drowned nautilus    
beneath the sea    
   
humans    
have futility in common with rocks    
except that everything    
girds and gnaws    
at the belligerent sensitivity    
of their hearts  
   
all clouded soft towers    
bi-pedal mortal spires    
with tender flesh    
beaten into place    
lacerated    
truncated amputees    
to fit the outer life    
of status and statues    
a scandal to the inner coves of self   
   
I'm envious of rocks    
except for moments of    
shifting watery kisses    
clamorous for love    
   
we remain    
disfigured terrains    
hunters of souls balmy unguents    
while    
fluctious Kamikaze moons    
unravel    
in a hidden grieving    
   
oh countenance of apathy    
only to be more like you    
a wilderness of stumps    
and    
dead rock gods    
   
and our aspiration    
indifference    
our exit    
the path of the renunciate    
a penitence    
feasting only on futility    
and the vagaries of spirit