still, quiet, and as maddening as a thousand untold genocides
a dead hum
cadence of footsteps
bataan death march
a dutiful dread consumes the...
(we are small vessels nodding off into the blue hue
as silent monoliths gaze off into manifest destiny
we are the problem children of the 21st century)
...owner
residue of past-lives coats brick and concrete enclosures
there once was something here
what exactly remains to be seen
to call it life is far too simple
perhaps trepidation is more appropriate
feel the delirium tremors like the biographies of dead writers
and the histories of fallen empires
ours is a base knowledge...
(careening around like rabid dogs
we sank our teeth into the soil
and passed our insecurities right to the land)
...of a haunted old farm house
cemeteries lie stacked up to ceiling
wood creaks and a million bits of dust come rushing up your nose
and you sneeze and you take it all in and can no longer differentiate between...
between what?
where does the horizon begin and...
(and soon the country withdrew
became an introverted homebody, wishing her boy would come home
and faded into the obscurity of grammar school text books and manicured lawns
no one saw much of the old gal in her final days
simply murmured "what a shame, what a shame"
when will that boy every learn
forgetting their own names)
..my body end?
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