Our cracks of energy, the blind
lust skipping out to the edge,
peek over, see what’s up, register
a thing –– what’s’that!? –– and dance
It would be foolish to blame your death on any one thing, Alan Kurdi. Bashar al-Assad, armies, terrorists…
Blank, you –– you? –– made me blank.
Washed topsoil from ready-ready minds.
Gone in a silly stream of sixty
and sixty, down, down, tap, down.