The suicides
we’re circling the hole where the ones
who abandoned us lie absent electric
we’re pacing a ring in the ground
to contain what they spilled
yet we can’t keep our eyes off its surface
we’re greedy to ladle the crimson porridge
to beat out the krik krak of tin foil and bone
then traitors we shout
take it back for the sake of each morning
you summoned the figments together
for the sake of the baba whose cow fed
all the children until there was none