march of the bone

it hits me as I wash the chalk from my fingers,
as I scrub into the thumbnail crack.
Those who laugh last, still crash, in this
planned out phase of existence
and distance; will not increase resistance, in this
paradoxal plane of physics

Drown into yourself
on holidays ever after,
bygones be gone like yesterday's paper
I itch that scratch and burn in it later
upon inspection the best correction
seems to be...

I don't fucking know
we hardly ever do, us} { people} {
we drew out of the water with test~run lungs
? formed a thought and thought we had won
bows, trebuchet, and then made the gun
nuclear weapons, chemical testing,
Christ, we used to worship the sun
The madness of man it is a disease,
we walk a thin line between,
talking animal and moving machine
making everything so squeaky clean
hushing the silence,
serene.