The Landlord

Lord of your wasteland.
Lord of what you dream
to subjugate—

this way to the mound
where you bury your dead.

Behind these canyons,
your bone yard sullies
the gloom of loam.

And whatever’s foul
seeps through clay.

Your blind tenants tread
beyond your weathered
forts, your shallow moats.

Your trespassers map
your dwindling terrain.