It’s always somewhere.
The little tattoo, tucked under a dog-collar.
The mantis, praying for prey.
The crease in the vestments.
A speck in the font.
The crack in the marble wall of
Human institutions.
Just wide enough
For thousands to fall through.
Just deep enough
To keep their cries from kinder ears.
Just small enough
To be papered over,
In courts
Inquiries
High commissions
Low places.

Stick a wedge in it!
Flip the tables!
Tear it all down and
Reclaim the lost!
Christ on a cross,
We’ve nothing to lose!

We’re already crushed.

Bryson Thomas