a prayer after the aftermath
threadbare sanity comforted
by a familiar ease
it feels like my mother’s cradle —
a home cooked meal.
annihilate any shred of fleas
of this new dimension, a new sphere
since landing and clutching
for green bricks out of the empty air
deep breaths are for dreams, and dreams
are for people who know they are free.
their glance reeks
of cemetery stones clutching at souls,
sailing out despite prayers.
a white bloodbath this heavy, this raw.
blame the fire at the radio station —
don’t let them see you
fumble at the bread table.
they sit quietly inside with bad intentions
lurk and disguise,
coloured in desperation.
owning what's not theirs to start with,
killing what they haven't built.
sit still, lie still, and sit some more
concrete candles are waiting.
each is lit for a life worth saving.
a type of sunset no one likes.
this land never gave anything that's mine.
this is how i feel.
what was taken from me, what was given.
waiting for the tides to change
when i control the waves
what's the opposite of an omen?
a nagging sense of relief.