The Massacre of 8 Billion Babies

Here are my words,

I’ve been hiding them,

In plain sight.

Is there too much noise?

Too much light?

Too much sweet, soft and pungency?

Or have we found our order,

Which had been stuffed in your mother’s cookie jar,

Atop the dusty grandfather clock,

acting as a make-shift shelf,

Aside the pickled eggs.

What if both?

What if the order rings

Only after we build a telephone?

What if it knocks

As we bolt the last hinge in our doors?

What if it blasts its

Experimental noise rap

On the other side of your fresh stucco walls?

And the backyard pool,

That our babies choose to drown in

Is their sanctuary of pixels

But the smoke is clearing from our sizzling dreams

We are like you.

We are alive

And awake

And thinking

And walking

And shitting

We've been crying

now we're speaking too

Listen

There are 8 billion languages

8 billion screens

8 billion plastic surgeries

8 billion planets

But only one conversation

Are you a participant?