Gravity

She’s poking fun at lifeless corpses sunken

in sod, twisted in curly, hairless roots

drilled into her scalp.  Carved black pumpkin

triangle eyes blow up voice boxes.  Mute,

marching missionaries with no mission

leave the rest of us dumbfounded blobs.

We are confined by 8x8 prison

cells formed by fallen droplets from her sobs.

A selfish queen divinely devoted

to massacres, she’ll snatch your possessions;

bury them into the ground.  Promoted

by the moon, come follow the procession.

Destination:  your grave.  This travesty

will make her sing.  Her name is Gravity.