sinkhole

clouds of dust
rise through
afternoon light
blown rock tumbling below
a scramble
to fill what’s yet again been swallowed

sounds of Komatsu’s claw
rolling the rubble
carries me to lines of
steel cast veins
poisoned blood
human accelerations
that lay the promise of
scorched landscapes
and coughing babies
dressed by the shadowed lips of
‘keeping the lights on’

a slow sink
characteristic of this land
patient exhales of rock
through percolating water
now, angered and weighted by the
thick sludge of gluttony
hoarded and distant from
the valley of dissolution

cavities cry the inevitable collapse
amplified more by our singing sisters
how sweet their sound
blinded now, will hungry hands finally choose to see?