the bottom floor of all of this mess was covered in dust,
but it wasn't the kind of dust God reassures us about,
the smell of flesh was omniscient,
ubiquitous,
and would be seared up here in our synapses good,
like maple syrup and burnt leaves and halitosis swirling for sport
they took you into the ether,
without permission,
the clarions were as welcoming as He had always promised,
but they were clouded with souls on the upside of the pulley,
and unwilling acrobats pounding the pavement below
this was a bookend day,
the kind that muddies the waters,
our waters,
the kind that possesses your possessions
the kind that breaks the mold,
whatever mold was in place
running was never our area,
but running was life,
life
and out on the docks,
when they hosed us down like we were making our way to the gas chambers,
when they told us they would ferry us home,
and we didn't know where home was,
we just knew it was no longer here
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