To tire,
to tire,
to sink down,
a huddle of wilting bones
to be borne up again
by friends.
to stay hip-cocked, ornery
and still, still
breathe deep into the belly.
undo this world, please.
undo every lethal gas attack
the hoarding of clean air
the systematic flogging of our dead
and our living
and our in-betweens in prison,
now on strike, who knows how long.
i know that to undo would mean me too
me this bit of spinach stuck in the teeth of god
and of course that is ok.
here, let me
help.
Kloncke 