Baptism

This is the start of our greed, the need
to pierce our thirst. If our graven idol

be carved, then let our knives carve
deeply without hitting bone.

Who are we, if not addicts who seed
clouds above the milk powder desert

to hydrate its dust into a living thing?
Serpentine thirst cauterizes our insides

so we are cotton-mouthed, unable to swig
from sources we didn’t hustle.

From our obsession with golf greens and
swimming pools emanates full immersion;

our bodies crown at the surface chokered
in dregs from the aqueduct floor.