Resist. Recoil.

The earth in rotation,

our spiraling nation,

my heart palpitations,

convenient causation

have stapled my lips

from my usual quips.

I'm losing my grip.

I can't read your script.

My blue eyes rolled

when the story was told:

your gold,

my mold.

The needles kept coming;

the band kept drumming,

full-body numbing.

Silence. Succumbing. 

So, it's over and done

and nobody won.

With nowhere to run,

we bathe in the sun

atop scorched soil,

letting our blood boil.

Let everything spoil.

Resist. Recoil. 

**************************************************

Despite all the bullshitery that was 2017, I was determined to post at least ONE measly poem before the year officially died. I resolve to write more in 2018. (Sorry or you're welcome.)

"Come back home and bring those green eyes. When are you coming home? Get back here 'cause, baby, these blue eyes are never as bright without you." I Am the Avalanche Green Eyes

"I spread into a distant hum. I droned along with everyone. And the earth grew green and nursed herself to what she used to be. All our senseless shouting calmed to quiet in her ancient memory." Kevin Devine All of Everything, Erased

"Hours pass and she still counts the minutes that I am not there. I swear I didn't mean for it to feel like this, like every inch of me is bruised, bruised." Jack's Mannequin Bruised