and we tell ourselves we’re the lucky ones

Echo, step, submerged, spinning
I repeat until I’m dizzy, ticking
and then I do it again, gripping
scared to leave the revolving door
mass produced, proactive, skulls
can we do it faster?
a homeless man hugs his baby to his breast
and we tell ourselves that we’re not beggars

blank white faces, we raise our hands in salute
it’s so easy to keep our world in small square miles
to go with out truly bathing, burning
time marked by the growth of our nails, grinding

what if every right decision we ever made
was wrong
or at least morphing
like the moon
still standing
still searching, soaring
we are single file warriors, wilting
our great civilization, declining
is it enough to know you’re loved?

we jump
and for a brief moment our feet leave the street
but we are forever brought back by our unity, piety
there weren’t any bad stories at bedtime
just a gun and a prayer shawl

but it’s everywhere that babies suck breasts
before you started to care
we were naked
now we scoop shovel after shovel of red-brown dirt
into barbed barracks
we create rooms to worship money
moon rising, falling
waning, waxing
our greatness defined by our structures
and the things we leave behind.

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