the world is a bathtub

in seconds we mutter a thousand verses

and jog our fingers down plastic beads,

though we know that none of the psalms or hymns

can save us from the way we claw onto each other so

we don’t feel the winds of the fall.

like crescendos, i grow, only to scrape my knees

on the harrowing accents you release from the bow of a


because when all the world’s a bathtub

and my ears are steeped in foam,

all i can hear is the lingering doom that screeches

before the plug escapes the geyser

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