Let me reach to catch the sun
so I can give what I owe when I said I would. 

Listen you politicker.
You who is politicking with your phallus in full metaphor. 

You front door sucker,
selling vacuums to those without homes but bank loans and children.
You give rocks and take gold, but your rocks become smoke,
filling rooms, and cribs, and homes, and not homes, and lives.
We breathe it in so deep it becomes cancer,
growing on our lungs, and in our chest, and on our bones,
eating away at them until they become dust. 

Until we become dust.
Until we fill rooms and cribs and homes and not homes and lives with our sound of collective sorrow
until you forgive us our debts so that we may be holy.