many days have passed and
we no longer care;
no more crying children
and no more crying parents ---
so what happens
when all the blood has
been washed away;
when all the tears have
dried in our suns' eternal indifference,
and when all the limbs
have been repatriated at best or thrown to the dogs at worst,
when you can no longer
cut the atmosphere in half with a knife;
when you can no longer
separate the the ones who pretend to care
from those who
aren't even bothered to play along with the act? ---
the
asphalt never forgets; it remembers everything ---
do
not mistake the shortness of your own ridiculous attention-span
with the resentment with
which the world swallows its tragedies;
the
ornery with which it conduct its negotiations
and
the spiteful vicissitude with which it variate its cruelties...
no-one ever believes the
warning; no-one ever assumes responsibility;
cry wolf, cry wolf,
cry wolf, no, cry apocalypse ---
it is all fucked ---
no-one knows how it will end ---
but from where i am
standing, it does not look good.
the
street lies empty for some days
after the catastrophe...
out of some kind of
respect, they figure---
out of some kind of
shame, i say.
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