Fourth-Dimensional Gods Can’t be Blamed for Climate Decay

The trees in Alaska are growing drunkenly—

permafrost melts. Politicians profit. The wind beneath

your thighs is thick, with particulars—I stand in heat,

slicing tendon and breast; I wish to be a spiral. A pyramid

mangled, inverted—four-dimensional gods reach third

base in golden twine spun from dumpsters in New Jersey

overflowing with poison ivy and narcissus; nymphaea, and

bronzed lilium—bury me alive. A floral bed, ring around

the rosy—pools of love crosshatched behind chain-linked

habitats. A rainbow is a gun, a cop is an abuser. Rosacea skies 

are fire trodden viking funerals of a time mourned future-present. 

                                                                          The ring around your finger

                                                                          is a conflict mineral—I want it in my mouth. 

Eros Livieratos studied philosophy and creative writing at William Paterson University. Eros’ previous work can be found in The Esthetic Apostle, Cathexis Northwest Press, and Map Literary. Eros' writing tackles topics of race, sexuality, capitalism, aesthetics, and technology.

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