In the beginning of after

the skin over the heart,

is peeled back lengthwise

for the starved little beasts,

their half-burned retina blazing,

hungry,

almost-sick.




They’re holed up somewhere nice now,

in between not-knowing and gone

(revealed but unspoken).

They’re relishing in the taste of dry earth.




These are the children

of one-thousand preventable apocalypses,

and they want to taste it all.




What’s left?

Unused talismans,

half-eaten preserves,

muted hues

of failed sovereignty,

wastelands of color,

warriors blessed by Cortisol,

the violent shells,

palm lines cut short

by the expected.




Quell this fear

which began so placidly

between ribs and heart and lungs

before they smell it.







Yes,

yes right there

just under the armour.

Past the wound

it’s soft

but dont let that fool you.

And its easier said than done




to let the fear wash over and through you

as if you havent been trying

since you were small

but it’s the trying that counts

and maybe even distracts

for a moment.




But as the chemicals wash

through your mind

And bite with neon green

right behind the corneas,

remember that there is still sleep




and then remember

there is still awakeness to be had




and keep on remembering

those two things

until it melts

down into

that place

where fear

is wedged.