Always

(medicine in the
deserts of
burning flesh
sorrowing souls.)

People to treat.
Lives lost or given.
The cold winter sand
forever in your shoes,
your pockets.

Your mouth the harbor
for the grit of every day.
You spit it out in the

***** cups, cracked with
the rush of
hurrying mouths.

Tents breath in and
out, their ***** flabby
from pawing hands.

Today is always unknowing
if the sky will save this
planet of death.

This day of unforgiving.

The supplications of
hands

covered

In blood.


Caroline Shank
10.15.2024

radio radio radio
running running gone
playing drums, playing hits
i dont recognize a song

typing writing rhyming
my hands shake and curl
carrying notes on my phone
nothing heavier than words

wait wait wait maybe —
my voice caught in my chest
nothing beats the weight
of the words left unsaid

~
"Why is there only one chair in this room?"

"This once was an island." She replied.

"You favor this place then, I take it?"

"How can I not," said she. "The dawn here is quiet."

"Not on this floor, you are much mistaken! The stairs are like an avalanche."

Looking down at herself, she quickly changed the subject. "There are barcodes on each breast now."

"I see. Were you nervous?"

"Only when focusing on the morning break," She confessed. "Otherwise I was much like you--killing what keeps us alive."

"Is that so bad?"

"I wonder. Sometimes I still feel the bruises." She stated. "But I am told this is normal."

"What else did they tell you?"

"To quit worrying about not being built to scale," she stated in displeasure.

"...and?"

"For me to prepare to fall again for the apocalyptic things written in the sky," She admitted with a wicked smile.

"What's so funny?"

"I recognized your handwriting long ago," She uttered into the centrifuge.
~