At eighty strokes per second,
two grams blur into a speck blotching my screen.
The Amethyst Woodstar, explains the voice over,
now flies on the verge of the world.
The amaranthine flume's run dry. It's drawn
over a thousand views like a rare double lotus,
no thumbs down. I swipe left to the window
where the virus covers ground in Mashhad.
Struck down as at a public stoning,
the final blow to the back of the head-
a woman collapsed in a pile everyone skirts around
like a detour. I'm certain she's below
the median age and breathing. I pause,
replay the clip to be sure. Shamefaced,
I type in the search box for more
of the same. Carnage is infectious, I can't help
touching my face. I pray someone will touch
me when my turn comes, my throat bruised
violet like the gorget of a Woodstar.
Pestilence by Rooja Mohassessy | Sandalwood & Vanilla Poetry Reed Diffuser
$15.00Price
