Rap at those enraptured under fears of the bacterial,
as children try discerning ethereal from material.

Drowning in the oceans of history, since repeating
these anachronisms trumpeted a fracture fed imperial.

Curse the brittle bones encroaching faster by the minute,
while the sinners broaching laughter couch a ghost within a cynic.

Living flesh against a ghost.
Spoken word against it's host
Who's the zombie here,
between a thread of hope and varicose?

Who's to know the line approached?

Serve the rabble in our throats?

Turn the table in our notes.

Learn the fables from the jokes.

In Quarantine We Trust
There will be annihilation
In Quarantine We Trust
It will end in jubilation

In Quarantine We Trust
An awakening of the soul
In Quarantine We Trust
Dirt for this empty hole

In Quarantine We Trust
Compassion for the spiteful
In Quarantine We Trust
Humility for the prideful

In Quarantine We Trust
That there will be healing
In Quarantine We Trust
For the tears of families kneeling

In Quarantine We Trust
First Procedural Sense
In Quarantine We Trust
Next Misplaced Reverence

In Quarantine We Trust
Dominion of material
In Quarantine We Trust
Elimination of ethereal

In Quarantine We Trust
There will not be new beginning
In Quarantine We Trust
The world will keep on sinning

In Quarantine We Trust
Unattainable height
In Quarantine We Trust
Fingertips missing Light

In Quarantine We Trust
The Essence will be rust
In Quarantine We Trust
Until we change our Trust

***** route courage
hamper dance
fog twist pin cushion

How many minutes
will I live through this mess?
It's a grim question
unanswered as of yet.
How many sleepless nights
will I begrudgingly survive?

Way to go, me. Sad brain.
Pontificate suicide.
She's the ***** beast
with the pike teeth,
picking up on the vein.
She will not leave. She, Me.
Forever & I.

Reflection.
Awareness.
How am I
still walking
still breathing
despite
carcinogenic
thoughts & feelings?
Reflection.
Ascension.
How am I
still drinking
still eating
despite
reverberation
in the earth's stomach?
Feeding myself to feed you.

Feeding myself to feed you.

. . .

Wet fingertip offered to the wind itself,
summon me personal heaven,
please, summon me
personal heaven.

Flat foot big toe tapping out the pulse
of the bare ground on concrete,
asking heaven of
the soil. Pleading.

Feeding myself to feed you.
Happily happening,
as but a terrible chance.

Happily happening.