Everything goes in us all around, tucking gold prayers

in a circle sack, injecting snake oil and cardamom

supplement to ease the tremors, but shake we will

in an earthquake, the future is blades behind

a curtain it seems proven again, this morning

or next climbing up a toll, from two to three four

figures of the dead, and I can’t even watch

the horror unfolding, denial of it is surrender

to the all of it really, in the back dry retching.