The Men, The Men | Natalie Eilbert

Deity LandscapeA woman throws a rock inside a boxinside a state like Wisconsin insidea skirt hoop. How many wives must heclaim for us to recognize his homelessness.I’m tired of his shit country, the dung truckof ego stinking up the poetry landfill.Of course I am tonguing the lord’s tongueand of course a woman’s rock landsat my clenched feet like a leather booklike a beautiful plague like a—like a rock.I want to alarm the poets of Americaby stating frankly your mentions of godare not shocking or inventive and whenyou live in a city don’t speak of the minefieldsyou’ve never sweat in. Hello, deity landscape,meet the poets who’ve invoked you.Have you ever watched a man weepat the notion his art won’t be remembered.Aw. I have—it’s wonderful. Likethe body of an albatross dissolvedto its ingested history of plastic, such isthe wonder of man and his cute immortality.A woman cooked the internet in her kitchenjust so I would hate the man who just emailed me.Suddenly I’m in a world of horses and