I am running from the pain all the time now … you know the one,
that single empty chamber that has no name;
 
It runs in the dark door in extreme pallor ,
a disgust quotient of 10 over 4 in our great American life—
that bomb coming through your doorway courtesy
of the USA ;
 
a person disappearing, delicately diaphanous as they go
into the nothingness forever; shhhh! whispered; a kind of death
that we pretend God doesn't hear;
 
that bloody spot on the ground where someone once stood,
 
a spot where their child will stand twenty years from now,
 
—the polychrome buildings glimmering in the thin reflection
of God, his personal photog spinning around, over and over,
to get the picture.