some forget how to pray to God & some mistake war for necessity. some pray and forget everything else. and some forget the feeling of their knuckles scraping along the concrete. they forget the sound of their children screaming the language of hunger into an empty fridge. business as usual, as long as it controls every aspect of human existence.
peeling flesh testifies like purple mountain’s crumbling majesty. “what do you think is going to happen?” comes the chorus when the crutches collapse. bandages of broken glass. miles and miles of linoleum before we plant a fucking flag. we’re hardwired to gag over a little dirt on the carpet.
“the seasons have made me whole.”
by now, we should all be aware of what lies behind the stitches. by now, psychosis is a stitch best left for the factory.
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