it's a churning magma
that restless burn that steals sleep
a relentless grinding stone
whose friction steadily
raps at the door of rage
biding for Vesuvius
to silence Pompeiish bickering
hoping for those atoms
to split again, and again
and then...
the smoke standing tall
the collapse of the wave
the drain of the red
from the cast iron tub
the scattered lives
the motionless knives
the opening of the door
and exiting
the exhale
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