It may only be words minus courtesy;
Feels like a bludgeoning assault.
Only quoting someone else;
Feels like megaphoned hate speech.
It might’ve been a while since I hit
Such a wall, since no one tripped me;
That’s how hard I fell. There are winds
That blow without answers, my friend,
That make a cudgel of a stick. It’s hard
To tell if what we need is more walls
To hold up the courage to bend. It
May only be the end of the world;
Feels like everyone’s got it under
Control. It may only be a missile
Hurled; feels like they’ve cleaned up
The debris, filled up the hole, packed
Cotton into wounds, stacked sandbags
Against the sea. Must be the wind
That makes it feel like a collective
Destiny.
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