Colonizers

Maybe I exist in empty spaces
Quick glances, vacant stares,
Vacuum chambers of yearning
Void of air and touch, bereft of purpose
And meaning
Alternating between belligerence and helplessness,

Waiting to dry up like raisins;
Sweet on the tongue,
Swallowed up by larger things
And expelled into space
Like dead skin from a body
Floating through the daily dust bowl
Of recycled needs, to be
Dropped ashore;
The peninsular colonization of the groin
Lays waste to everything
Rail tracks of desire laid into
The hinterlands
For my riches to be borne away.