The Dead Sea is Offended

How dare you call me dead -
haven't you read Aristotle?
I have held the crowns 
of Kings in my salty arms, 
Cleopatra sang of secret 
beauty locked in the crest
of my waves that move
with the breath of the moon
into the lowest rift
of this bleeding Earth. 

I don't have room for
life to teem in my bowels. 
I am a palace of magnesium, 
bromide and sodium - 
I can suck sadness 
from your soul and scrape
scabs from your skin
just to roll it all out
in pearly halite pebbles
you can take home again.