The dead don’t speak
Won’t tap a bony finger to send a text
Nor do they whisper of folks on raised beds
Face down, eyeballs up, trached and gone
What you don’t see isn’t there
Didn’t you know that?
But I see the lost and they’re not spirits
Bedrooms and offices hit by invisible bullets
Living bullets that keep firing and shooting
Their goal what I once thought was ours:
Yet so many tell me it’s over
They don’t hear hearts that rattle
See hands putting right foot in left shoe
Lungs grasping air from hollow chests
Those facts can only exist in my world
But it is their world, like earth and sky
You want things nice and back to normal
Is it normal to forget millions lost?
The future demands a little effort plus
Small tinctures of thought
Kids know what to do
Why not you?
Still choosing your nightmares?
Wait, soon they’ll choose you