Wednesday, April 05, 2017

we are nothing and nothing can save us

and despite everything we’ve
created we are still surrounded by emptiness

we have the promise of the lottery
we have ipods for
starving children everywhere
and it feels good to rest out here

to just drop to your knees on the edge of
burnt hill road and let the blood flow,
and it feels good to close yr eyes

left him lying there because the baby was
crying, buzz of flies was a soft blanket,
a wall, a gentle ocean
shadows of birds in flight

could taste it, like music or the
sound of running feet

no one asleep, but one of us turned away
autumn maybe or the end of summer
and the heat like a dull blue shroud

silver sun in a sky the color of dust and
despite all of the wars we’d won
we were lost

found the mother in a shallow grave with her
hands cut off but we never found the father

had 400 channels to choose from
and it wasn’t enough

had some good fucking medicine

still hated myself, but not as much,
not as fiercely

missed the heat that came with
all of that glorious empty anger

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