vulnerable lives strewn like umbrellas in the
gutter after the typhoon clears our area
of responsibility, we can’t take anything without
destruction somewhere in the end.
the truth of our world
splayed across a shopping list
a shattered window
the poster of a politician’s face
they satisfied themselves with the chase
and the meal afterwards
a shrine or the event itself?
today’s news in a puddle of water and gas.
tomorrow will she rage tears in the darkness?
wailing, forgotten in the corner with the cost of rice
always rising like the rich, failing
pitched inevitability like a tent city.
the world falling around her
(ravaged as they say only ever in the wake of a hurricane
passing off the western seaboard)
her story shunted aside
in the banquet of another day as usual
traded for a fucking dollar
consumed naked and fast
like a perfect slice of white bread.
please god, tomorrow will she breeze by the window?
a touch that travels wet along the coast, a peal of joy in her name
the harvest falling under our tongues
as lovers before the waves surge then
balancing history on the edge of her lips
a moan lifting like a puff of smoke
from the hearth where nothing is wasted
messenger to the world, to the very soul
of a world beyond cries in the darkness.
where truth swells like an awareness seeping steadily
into the wellspring of our being together.
risklove 