A bed under my head, a roof o’er my feet
Cold fear, a fine mist o’er empty streets
Alone, grieving in stained pajama sheets
Wondering if the end it was a virus that led
To a half-remembered phrase, prophecy
Worn couches masquerade as deathbeds
Lives spent streaming, WiFi, windows shuttered
How worlds end, not in bangs, but whispers
11.19.19
The doctors also happen to be serial killers
Poisoning the poor while whispering
”This is good for me so it must be great for you”
11.16.19
I wrote you a love story
on a red post-it note
it was short but brilliant
though the glue failed
words tumbled in the air
with orange leaves in fall
11.14.19
The greatest lie ever told
All men are created equal
Though not defined by
Atoms and compounds
Cells, marrow, blood, bone
Debt and dollar divide us
11.13.19
Teachers I love leave the classroom
Faster than the desks falling apart
Administration cowers to lying parents
Natural consequences be damned
We, the teachers, have no one watching
Our backs, besides each other, anymore
There’s no point in staying on to see how
Bad it will get, there’s no place for me