Fissures In A Texas Oil Field

Oil hangs heavy in the air,

permeates the soil around

sputtering engine and rhythmic

clank of rusty praying mantis shape,

whose push rod probes like a fist

fissured strata miles below to

suckle Earth's black and primal

forest and fossil ooze while nearby

metal tanks stand stalwart,

offering salvation to the crude.

♥

But you want to talk about relationships,

forget the rise and fall of progress,

lament the many buried complexities

which rise to stain the surface

and fill the stalwart metal

of your resolve to leave,

left brain-

right brain-

no brain-

some nonsense about bipolar disease.