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.