Our first screams sprout
a muffled storm of
shock
and loosely buried rage,
eruptions that birth a
quaking
of bone and flesh and thought-
triggering warnings.
“Be
thankful!” they say, force-
feeding us silence, as
we bite
their filthy fingers
off.
– for
Poets and Storytellers United (Friday Writings #169: Answering Writing in Writing). Inspired by the rotting madness that is the
current state of affairs in the USA and the following lines from The Waste Land: “That corpse you planted last year in
your garden, / has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year?”
