It never ceases
the turgid churn of garbage
morbid juices leaking from greasy bags
heavy with excess and prepackaged regret
filth strewn nonsense
abandoned beside the highway
or piled unto heaven itself.
scrawled jaggedly on discarded pages
concealed among crumpled reminders
other tolls to be paid
and declaration of formal surrender.
I am Caesar of this quarter-acre rubbish-heap
behold my empire of the picket fence
I am the satrap of rat-traps
overlord of the overflowing pit
I am the prince of old car parts
lord of leftovers and frozen delights
I am the scion of this scrapheap
sultan of the wanton and needless
I am king of this accursed place
and the waste rules over me.