One Hundred and Forty-Six.


Izzy circle


I built you a house out of paper but
it melted in the rain and turned to pulp
a lumpy puddle, a mess of good intentions

we plunged our hands in, got real dirty
up to our elbows in mashed-up words
and shaped the slush into rock-hard bricks


Sarah circle


Half a world away from the wailing and still I can hear it
In the voices of schoolgirls grown hushed in the street
And see it in the eyes reflected in a phone screen
On a dark street under the blind bright stars
And they are my eyes and they are your eyes and they are frightened
I feel it in the catch in the throat when the footsteps grow faster
The blood in the breath and the impulse to run
The turning, keys clutched between fingers, to find
A benign faced late dog-walker, strolling back home
What bad bone is it in us that starts all the hatred
Pricks the instincts to cruelty and turns the tongue into pitch
What section of atoms can we excise at birth
To return to Eden, before the madness got in



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