the worst thing on earth is us
- after Silence of the Lambs, by Thomas Harris.

by Robert Kennedy

how we construct pain
our lives
tedious
part of the evolutionary small
masked
hideous torment
that can’t be mentioned
under the skin
things that don’t remove
every strip
every part
weighed down
with that look of taste
upon our faces
skinny black features
on white romantic wants
plays the part
of ultimate release
dissected
the unquiet seconds
the last movements
of what
we contained