The Latter Days by Matthew Milia

My family does own some land where the river is wide
At night I see my memories dimly dying on the other side
I know that I am now all bitterness and tart
Anatomy to me is a homesick stomach and a broken heart

You rest-stops in the midnight are like friends I’ve worn to bone
I only notice that you’re glowing when I’m feeling so ever alone
Drunken with the children now too many times to complain
Trustful was the mouth I turned into a lustful sopping hole and
Now it’s nothing but a bathtub drain

The Latter Days are harder than I ever could’ve known
Come back to retrieve me sometime soon
If the Latter Days are ending then I hope I’m ending too
And buried someplace where your breath tastes new to me and
Always blowing, so my body’s bent and bowing
Deep into the day’s ending in summer
The Latter Days are always panting like a
Second-Comer

All the fleshy statues of the city-square goodbyes
Are flinging smooth-skin trinities and nakedness
Up into my eyes
Naked swan-necked girls, your arching backs into the sun
The highway ditch’s black clouds split the median and
Breathing-in of all the ribs of every bathing one

And in those trash-pit-ponds you bathe and
Oh, how you all gleam
Mindlessly bright where you’re wet in
Your eye-lashing, fluid-splashing, rapid-flashing
Canal-bleaching dream
For me