Anthropocene
The world feeds me dinner
I eat
and digest, and excrete, and zip my pants, and wash my hands
with soap
bought and packaged in the excrement of kings
and gods
but their waste doesn't flush
it piles up and stinks
From dust you came, to dust you will return
"My dust will not be another chalky stratum."
The dead stars hear my defiance
and still rain on the dry Earth.