A Poem Written Between Vacuuming and Child-Raising and Going to Class and Feeding the Cat and Insomnia and Reckless Heartache and Dish-Washing and Working and Sitting Calmly and Writing Other Poems

We throw bullets at one another
and cause impossible tempers
How are we capable of so much
There is something wrong

We fashion black round bombs
to celebrate selfish gods
They are laughing at us from distant stars
that have already died

We present each other with lies
wrapped in ugly money and plastic
We hide our wickedness behind smiles
and kill ourselves, attempting apology

We knife out joy and murder nature
claiming injustice and discovery
We have always diseased
We will always mutilate

We burn each others’ happiness
possessed by hoary egos
We spray clean blood on clean earth
There is something wrong