All the world resides
in a grain of sand
bound to bring discomfort
when wet upon the skin.
Venomous face
whether punched
or body slammed
the words keep on twitting
no breath for the living
to catch – it is
a feat for ladies
mulling over tea. All
the world will wash
through a grain of sand.
But keeping on is
weary making beads
upon the brow when
demagogues are
normalized and the
twitting of hate means
there is no chance for sleep.
Violation runs deep for
this, cruelty hanging
so short of breath.
For every body hurt
pay attention to the
single grain of sand
where all the world resides
or surely we are damned.
Anne's mediocre poetry 