Rachel Kearney-

The Little Things

Ripple effects are falsity when

truth is lying. Dominoes

topple like meteoric waterfalls,

if waterfalls were acidic.

                        You've etched those words

                        of neglect, of nothing. And

                        they haunt. Like

waterfalls, they cascade from

the eyes, from the mouth,

from the mind. It follows

current by current

streams of bullet gold

                        and of silverfish minutia.

   We, of harshened callous

run intersecting to all. Ink

runs black. To

            run down faces and

   raccoons on the street. What

we do and have done

   will run across us like street rats.

   Like water to fall

and rusted clocks to

fill.

   Gravity to fall.

 Judgments

Mesh doors stop the

   light from ripping us away.

Our safety is the

promised refuge. Dotted

lines drew us away

            from the point of ammunition.

The range of attributes

   shimmers from silver to

black as if fish

   possessed no scales. Only

our light is forfeit

   in spotted brightness.

The sunsets are falling

again, and brown dust

            sands my lungs.

We share fault in this

                        cancer.

Rachel Kearney is a writer based in the southwestern United States. 

She is currently writing the last few thousand words of her novel, and 

has work either forthcoming or published in Poetry Quarterly, Eunoia

Review, and Quantum Poetry Magazine, among others...