Darkness. Texture of soot and fumes.
The world worn thin. Exit \u2013 zero.
A sickly sweet smell. The walls will settle
Into the throat, the memory, the brick silt.
Father swallows the silence: \u201cIt will pass\u2026\u201d
Mother fades on the syllable \u201cNo-\u201c
A child\u2019s \u201cMa-\u201d stuck in the cracks,
Where flesh turns into clay.
The ceiling squeezes out the last of the moisture.
The panel\u2019s maw. Black exhaustion.
Time is gone. The pulse in the temple \u2013
Living pulp in a stone palm.
Empty casings count the minutes.
Dust became language. Voice \u2013 iron.
The sky is a slab, pressed down low.
Won\u2019t be dug out. Death is too close.
One.
Two.
T\u2026
\u2026
\u2026<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Darkness. Texture of soot and fumes.The world worn thin. Exit \u2013 zero.A sickly sweet smell. The walls will settleInto the throat, the memory, the brick silt. Father swallows the silence: \u201cIt will pass\u2026\u201dMother fades on the syllable \u201cNo-\u201cA child\u2019s \u201cMa-\u201d stuck in the cracks,Where flesh turns into clay. The ceiling squeezes out the last of […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[55],"tags":[122,121],"zbirnyk":[],"class_list":["post-3895","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-poetry","tag-death","tag-war"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\n