I can smell it now. The smell of thick dripping sap -
bitter ****** dirt that rots at the corners of humanity
at our fingertips,
in our news headlines...
The smell of **** stifling the air, like the stench of death -
like burning pine needles -
It pervades, and never moves with the wind,
Heavy in the clouds, soot on our faces and inside our lungs
Don't inhale.
A piece of paper is nothing when it rots away in the dirt in an alley
It's words crumble and disappear in days
A letter does nothing when thrown at the wind
A letter does not begin to explain the complete destruction of a somebody,
The evisceration of a person.
The silent decay of someone's body -
Words can't explain the slow, bleeding out of America.
Hemorrhage is swept away from the streets but if you look in the gutters
In the corners, behind the bins you'll find gore,
guts, viscera that rots away and feeds the dirt.
It will only end when we hunt it down,
dig it out, scrape it out from underneath our skin like cancer -
Burn out anguish and pestilence and scorch the earth
these men walk on
Is that the cure?