(they) don’t want
mass panic
snakes for your ankles snakes for your (body)
everyone maybe gets their own
(air pumps a constant song beside a hospital bed where there’s always a woman who sits with
nothing but her skin, her lonely hair)
we’re pumped with words and video
insects in our ears around our eyes
our tiny hands try to swat what can’t be destroyed
suffering is colorless and baffled
the point systems of life square and rigid
(emotional ethics move across the pilgrimage of day after day into nights solid with thick
touches, coughs like sneezes to count)
this becomes a game to stay
alive as the crows in the 5 o’clock trees
(we cannot fly away from the Earth, she cradles us and we hold rain sticks towards death,
laughter becomes a footprint in disguise)
can I buy what I need on tinder with my looks
a good hair day could save your life
dance still for the children to be
my sons are young
they still believe
in good
I don’t let on
about truth and blood running stalemate in a decision
to end a life
Click here to read Sarah Lilius on the origin of the poem.
Image: “Crow Tree” by TraumTeufel666, licensed under CC 2.0.
