A ribbon of letters,
strung together, form a line.
She Walks in the Fire
Her headlines burn his skin with time

Stories of pleas, cries, wars, disasters
He wears the torn paper as
his own. Stripped from lives after
to glue to the Newspaper Man

As he steps, he trails a pool of
black and white shredded story footprints
Boy Found Beaten Dead
And in his arms cradled his heir’s hints

He let slip the past plastered to his world
and clung to the future in his fingers
already, this baby had glue and words
stuck to her skin. “Hunger,” they lingered

He tried to take back memories born.
Like a blanket, she was wrapped in this
Family Torn Apart in Storm
Her cries echoed, sighing, a snake’s hiss

A fate of which is chosen
before hand because of
our hands. They are held broken
in our hands to face the world of...
chaos