Blood to run in the gutter and ditches, as they trade our eyes our hands our other
loose parts. If the reward of suffering is experience we need know more but it is the only
god whose opinion counts. Still we have but only a narrow window.
People engaged in. Who should never.  Still it was you
taught me the way of the book,
a disrespect for all but the white taking dominion over,  to restrain and muffle.
To be trod upon taking a short path to heaven.
What any of it means to the curious
who I am, who you see, who any to say.  We are

Done.  We are
finished.  But then
what comes next assures the best secrets.
Don't ask me
why.
Consequences you probably never thought of.
Maybe we already got the worst but
we are
not
ready
to
die.

Certainly not by them.
Not yet.