#withoutsalvation
crack the walls,
burden the roof, break the windows.
come in with your branches, roots, and worms.
weave vines through our plastic molding,
greenbriar climbing the counters,
thorns catching at skin.
spread yourself over the dishes,
over our waste-sorting systems,
our unpaid balances.
flood the rooms with oxygen
we didn’t ask for,
didn’t earn.
cover us with pollen and leaf rot.
make us green and replaceable.
send hurricanes and hail.
beat the roofs raw.
drive rain sideways through walls.
come through the cracks under the doors at night,
pollen in our eyes, our mouths, our vents.
load the air until the lungs comply.
trickle into the control panels, data centers.
overgrow the wiring.
puncture the hearts of
the algorithm wardens,
the click militias.
let the first responders
shed uniforms, go native,
disappear into vine and heat.
just leave the coyotes,
pacing.
push the seas through kitchens,
over tile and linoleum.
wash jellyfish into our soup bowls,
ramshorn snails into our hair.
we’ll swim, clinging to each other,
panicked, soaked through
with regrets and tranquilizers.
roll your tremors.
collapse foundations.
bury the end of work
and the literature of redemption.
hurry.
let the bedrock swallow us.
let us be covered
with water.
desert.
weather.
and spread over everything,
the weight that seals the wilderness.
Jan 17
Jan 17, 2026 at 2:34 PM UTC