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edition of 50
Eris, covered in slums,
Shrouded by a crumbling sky.
Struck to her fragile frame.
The world escaped
Growing on skin and nail.
Steel towers stand tall
Among desolate homes.
Sticks and stones like totems
To toppled buildings and splintered trees.
A mixture of concrete and loss.
Every inch busy,
Working itself towards the grave.
Of what was not wanted.
Harm in a haphazard deposit.
Handprints in pavement
Longer than obituaries.
The constant procession of progress,
Spreading its way across hills.
Occupants drag their heels through veins,
Marching themselves down dismal streets.
The violence of nature chained in place,
A people parading pointlessly
Shoulder to shoulder in place.
Give hubris to the homely,
Have them leave their homes and witness a world just as hideous.
She is invulnerable until broken.
She is birthed broken
In a twisted mass.
The steel and concrete never give.
Shattered bones heal back weak,
the torn skin comes back pink.
I'm drifting through, lifeless,
yet to ask why.