(no subject)

[apiphile]

October, have I counted you before

It never stops, does it;
the dripping tap.
"This too shall pass" my ass.
Or my arse, if you pronounce it like that.
Still the water level rises
in the waiting cup, and
across the water the smoke curls
as bodies go on piling up;
or disappearing, which is better:
can't count the crimes,
don't have to do the time.
I'm debating chemical peel
for my cracked soles;
spent a week working on
how to soften my callused feet.
Tried pumice: not very effective,
a man on the internet shares
his perspective, says sandpaper might do it.
Bleeding on the bathroom tiles
is a young man's game, so I will
apply a little more thought to it.
A circle of bureaucracy bans
my cancer-fleeing friend
from the antivirals he needs:
call this number, no that number,
no none of these; just wait
until it gets worse.
It never stops, all of that;
still the water level rises
in the water-catching mug.
Across the weary waters
our his-and-hers matching thug
orders children into prison
for the crime of bilingualism;
feeds permatanned jism to unwilling mouths,
and crows to waiting, hateful crowds.
The skin on my feet thickens,
maybe I should walk it off?
And the air across the water
sickens half a continent with smog;
I am catching drips from a tap
I can't fix; while absent God
masturbates to dying kids,
buried without recourse to hearse.
What a farce.
This too shall pass?
Just you wait
until it gets worse.