And I am all but reading. 

Repairing your flesh beneath a veil. 

Children. 

And underneath the exhaust flows. 

Over the river, into the classrooms. 

Never weapons. 

One massacre. 

Something with cancer. 

Important now, the list. 

Those sweet and some salty. 

Never soiled and never bruised. 

No existence. 

Connection slowed. 

To a place of past happiness. 

A place we know to bring cancer. 

And weapons. 

A place to exhaust all your reserves. 


Do not continue. 

Do not begin to go back.