Cruel

Dance and weep for jiltings
and birth to unwanted children.
Products of passionless fornications.
Careless fucking people
perpetuate the viral colony of earth.

Do they want it?
Birth forsaken, do they die?
Washed out with a hose, like
incestuous newborn dogs in
sun-lanced dust.

The brightness of a woman's womb engorged
shines forth as rays of sunlight emanate
beneath the hand upon her abdomen.
Enthroned, with arms about her lower waist
I cannot help but marvel at this glory embodied,
sinking into her deep-set eyes,
fixed upon the sphere of contained newness.

Still, I cannot help but ask,
Oh, living innovation, shall you find rest
upon this earth of strife?