how can some thing
so clean
be so *****

that it floods our fears
wakes up our dead
breaks down our minds
and replaces it with dread

a dread that’s but fuel
to sate the hungry
the desperately numb
but worth no money

for we scrub
and scrub

until the skin
peels off our flesh

until the clocks
lose their minute hands

until the ground
quivers to no more

until the clouds
trap too much in

until the lines
turn into just words

until the earth
is just fine dirt

but we can wait
patiently
even with such hurt