TheFeatheredSleep – Refuge from the madness
Amidst worry, distraction, hunger, noise,
there is the brand, the scorch of you
sealing me in wax
pressing me to Florentine paper
sending me by leathered mail
with a longing as woven
as pulp that becomes a letter
writing out felted words
my throat cannot swallow.
The world is burning, in once-removed chaos
I find an unsteady peace, imagining us.
Everything is flammable, people smite each other
with little tools and heavy words
we forget our humanity often
we are caught with our pants down
jacking off to lies & hate in little jars
sometimes it seems the world would fair
better without our penchant for harm
but we subsist, in fragments, shards, pieces
of goodness separated and flung apart.
I should be considering the state of the planet
why it’s searing in October, why people
shoot someone for the color of their skin, how
evil can stand in White…
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