Fracture

with broken bricks

and sticks and stones we built a home

for homes. where guilt owns

our safety and our waning health turns

our bones melt and groan under sheltered weights

and when shifting plates spell danger our patience is tried, tested,

sentences end and our pretend lives

are no strangers to disaster, death, destruction, laughter

our homes lean, fall, collapse

before this ancient influence

all hesitance too late and we are

no longer safe. our strength

is in crumbled wealth

but our hopes lie in the rubble of our homes

the struggle is near, and

though we drown in the field we steer clear

of reason and bear this club,

this shield, this shattered dream, this trinket.

stay out of the light and drink the real, the clean. our pubs

now empty our hearts now filtered

danger simply kept at bay. sickness seems standard and

bland words adore disaster

court death and

afterwards we waste no more, quest no more only

adorn our rest with abstract facts.

only emptiness. only glistening quiet

and endlessness. floating queues

and lines

going nowhere.