We sat silent on the edge of neon orange dust plumes while pondering our volcanic principles.

There were beggars there, tucked beneath the molten pines as if not to stir the proverbial pot of disillusion and malevolent discontent.

I watched the nuclear shadows pass by our sunken figures in the double-sun twilight as the merely decent scoffed at the new ways of man.

We aligned our feminine energy with our better masculine qualities to create a separate, yet superior identity.

In she/he we trust/vote.

Battleaxes at every corner store/life saving building/state capitol.

Rectangular cardboard tablets with cryptic hieroglyphics shake wildly in the meaningless afternoons of a pre-war spring.

“They should’ve followed the rules.” they say, when discussing the injustices of those who don’t look like them.

“We will not follow the rules.” they say, when protesting against the very protections meant to keep them and others alive.

We shared our last embrace as the pseudo-sun collided with our own.

In the depths of nuclear winter, the ash sticks warmly to our melted bones.

Fused to the earth now, our bones all the same color,we are at last:

one nation

…under dust.

04/24/2020