Compositional Dumpster Diving

There are too many words made,
And too much information,
And most of it goes to waste

And rots on the docks, or falls
By the way, or gathers dust
In prepper caves, or gets tossed

By churches and libraries
And winds up in the dumpsters.
The rats of poetry save

Some of it, packed into nests
Where little gets digested
And most ends up abandoned,

Mummified caches lasting
Long after the pack-rats’ lives,
Long after the arthropods

Have consumed what they can eat
And the microbes their remains.
It won’t be only plastic

And oil or radiation
Seams the strata after us.
Language will lie in layers

Of lies, colorful, tie-died
As Morrison formations,
As richly veined with monsters.