whos hand is this

poking out from the human rubble?

we mumble

into the night

about our bodies and losing our senses.

people scamper to the graveyard at the top of the hill

to escape death.

boats for twenty come to collect one hundred.

dogs bark before they die.

bed becomes a haven.

it smells like our bodies and our lost senses.

the covers over our heads condense down our skin to sweat.

lomburg thinks one hundred grand a year will

save the planet

by the end of the century.

eco warriers for twenty come to collect one hundred.

the human heart is assessed in economic terms.

current loss and future gain.

they called him hitler.

they throw words around like bombs.

easy as pie.

sweet smells of americana rising from window sills.

we confuse them as we discuss our husbands and what we will call our kids.

kissing each others necks on the phones to our mothers.

muscles in knots we relax into slumber and wake in the morning reluctant

to untie. 

silently we cry separately in the kitchen and wipe tears away before

they are seen.

it comes in waves.

when the sun is out we swim.

the sun is out and the only way to live is to swim.

our animals are drowned and our fortune is lost.

future gain.

current cost.

our senses pile up with the recycling.

i hope that mine will become something useful.

but they were no use to me.

slowly but surely

out of the darkness my eyes adjust and i dont feel so blind.

welcome into my home.

tonight the lightening is white.

and the addicts are getting paid in liver damage and death

to unload the crates in the rain.

your lips rest on mine but we are not kissing.

you hold me as i cry.

but mostly we slot into place and smile.

we pray that noah will come once more and he will be sent to Sind.