We want to blame.
Our throats are raw as toads
We lift our voices to the sand around
The massive mountain crying for
Blood, blame, bubbles for Macbeth
Daggers dripping with the rose and oil.
Oh, yes oil. We demand it. Guzzling
As if we didn’t have brains
To think. We warble on the shore
That daily shrinks.
And the tide is coming
Is coming in. We are all full of sin.
Missing the mark, holding up mirrors
For others to see personal fallacies
That prove utterly destructive. And
Still we blame. While we know
We know it lies with us all
Lies in our bellies at night
Kicking and screaming at night
The thing we own and
Convulse to hide
The thing we throw on
Another’s back, on
The one we want to blame.