Turn over the ruined cheeks of the mountaintops (15/25)

Turn over the ruined cheeks of the mountaintops
to give their lungs some sun
the earth bones crackle as it coughs up its blackened stomach
and you feel impolite as you stare at the many deaths its died
feel like it, the displaced beggar and you, the passerby 
guilty in your own health 
you have nothing in your pocket but a handful of seeds and maybe
a few mouthfuls of her heart left over from last night
they might grow, yet
you lay them down and hurry away 
We don't have much longer on this earth, might as well leave something pretty behind

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