Maybe is that the river runs through a jungle, and we’ve been ignoring the heat and the beasts of the night trying to fill the void in their bellies. And we been leaving bread crumbs leading to our house.

And how do you love the ones who are blind? The ones who claim to see, who want to protect their goods, their property, their land they themselves stole from someone else? And in the name of their fear are willing to let anyone else -but them- fade into remembrance. Be the offering to a god they cannot feel.

Will the spirit of the material beings be forever attached to those inanimate objects they created to dress themselves in? To hide the nakedness they are so afraid of? The image in the mirror? The numbness pervading it all.

I will not become a vigilante, but I won’t hide my words.