this bizarre plea for that dystopia

dug here with slumber  

which might sleep for friendship.

maybe creep and demise passing,

a prayer and an assembly,

me and God in his chamber,

a euphoric chalice

that grasps a spade to dig

but who am I to find such bliss in the anxious ground?

I take a spade and dig

but who am I to find such bliss in the anxious ground?

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Still living

fallout met

by masses,

without guns

no bullets

just mute

disease,

creeps fast

striding shrill

in media

mantra, fear-

I could sense

in spun words

on print page

sold for pence

ignorance

pushed quick,

cutting harsh

and bleeding,

blood pounding

though veins of

arms, afraid,

survival

met impulse

like long fight,

fal...

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