Gardner Dorton
Final Saturday
Maybe the earth, too, will lose
its volcanic traction and be thrown
into blankness. The sun god dead
and colding at our feet, offering herself
finally, as a plain asphodel. Your beloved
is already carbon miles below
the last top soil. We are not special
enough to survive, and if we are.
I will give my bottom lip as a final blossom
for all the dirt I have put over us.
They did not help us, the ivory gods
of rape and hunger, and I am the god-
slayer. Every pagan deity equipped
on my belt. So we blew up
our finger prints in search
of our own dominant hands.
I know I am a prophet of something
unpleasant like sludge or angst.
3am, the hour fast approaching,
a saxophone down the block
is playing its final melody.
its volcanic traction and be thrown
into blankness. The sun god dead
and colding at our feet, offering herself
finally, as a plain asphodel. Your beloved
is already carbon miles below
the last top soil. We are not special
enough to survive, and if we are.
I will give my bottom lip as a final blossom
for all the dirt I have put over us.
They did not help us, the ivory gods
of rape and hunger, and I am the god-
slayer. Every pagan deity equipped
on my belt. So we blew up
our finger prints in search
of our own dominant hands.
I know I am a prophet of something
unpleasant like sludge or angst.
3am, the hour fast approaching,
a saxophone down the block
is playing its final melody.
Biography
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Gardner Dorton (he/him) is a poet living in Knoxville, TN. He graduated in 2019 with his MFA in Poetry from the College of Charleston. His chapbook Stone Fruit was recently published by Glass Poetry Press. Find him on Twitter: https://twitter.com/gardnerdorton
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