hearts and tomatoes

fettered in altered clandestine towels of tomorrow’s dead praises
we left behind finding gardening pretentious tomato collections
on the back of giants now again where black olives and perfect
organic romaine lettuce goes to get on the table ferrets trying gold ice
talking to God and coming to realize it takes only God to love me,
no one else, but only God to love me and forgive me and think me
worth being a member of humanity worth loving, worth living,
worth being preserved as something in art as though I am deserving,
I am not, I am not, I am not a creature who deserves forgiveness
or love or compassion or trust or love or life or caring in human eyes,
they should let me die by time, by the dead trees at the party signal,
ransacked around the covered, protected batteries, still and sleeping,
no one will notice my war-shock take on the broken heroic couplets
that I keep open, undesired, un-asked for, unmentioned in tired hours