Queen of the Wasteland

An unknown narrator tries to find absolution or meaning in imminency.

You say I love you, boy - 
wrapping sheets around your stomach
in our DIY hospital,
belching to the silent sound of starvation.

Boy, I still believe. I shake, enraged at night,
engaged in conversation
with God & Satan. They are unshakeable.
I lie with you, waiting for a miracle.

Boy, I'll tell you who I want to marry.
She spreads from East to West, on the horizon.
Her rolls and electric kisses flick
across her body, like pizzicato on a violin. 

Tears stream from me, boy -
my tongue flicks as my betrothed looms over us.
She is uncouth and she is cancer, 
and I lie awake in the morning, willing.

I anticipate the moment she descends on us,
built in the sky like St. Petersburg
to be lowered on our haunches the next day.
We will become sick, my brother.

You are my best man,
and I will walk down the isle of forever.
Your body will perish before mine;
and while holding the Queen of the Wasteland,

I will shed my tears and skin, too.