wet words, wet rot

i cannot stomach the world we live in,
i cannot stomach the way it eats itself

it eats itself, i cannot stomach it

i go insane, pitch chairs through glass
want to pitch chairs through glass,
throw my body into a lit window

my body in a lit window,

scratching at my eyelids
my eyelids scratching

i see the edges of the sky blistering
the sky blistering at the edges

i walk the day's verge like a fray
i go about my day on the verge

of seeing everything too clearly
everything is seen too clearly

i can have all of this inside me
inside me i have all

and it still slides out as words
words slide out still

sick with awareness of blood on screens
blood on screens and streets

we say we love our country
i say i love my country

my heart is a fist in my chest
my chest has a fist for a heart

a gun cocked between my legs
there's a gun cocked under the table

and all i can do is this —write
write this down— all i can do

poetry, watching, fingering the pulse of rot
fingering the pulse of rot, watching the news

i do what i can
i do what i can

and still, it is never enough

i cannot stomach the world we live in