the underbelly

there is always something
cataclysmic around the corner
always petri dishes filled with fog
we do not divine these days, but
we feel it, like fragmented prose
spidering up our legs
taking root in our tibias and talons
don't think for a moment we don't all have talons.

there is something, unknowable
waiting for us to tear each other to shreds
i know, i've seen it in my present
don't tell me you're a preacher because
i only want a break.