constanly amazed

constantly amazed

We draw strength from the decay around us,

 like children playing on the banks of a poisoned river,

we cleanse ourselves in foul water and coagulated fat.

Never stuck,

we draw butterflies on the inside of our concentration camp walls

and blow them alive and away

over the razor wire to

alight on the limb of the old cypress tree.

Hand in hand we leave fresh tracks

in the ash of cities in riot

and skip stones

off the reflection of the blood moon.

We are not the red flesh

pasted to a white wall

of a preschool

surrounded by cop cars

and media vans.

We are not the shooter within.

We are not what travels in and out

 of our mouths and our assholes.

We just happened upon this place;

to us there is only beauty.

So we coo to each other in museum whispers;

constantly amazed by the end of the world.