Features on our skin

Etched on our skins
the features of earth
rounded to fit sliding off our shoulders
we ask ourselves to stop being careless
can we?

 the water climbs high enough in the veins,
 to keep the vessels
floating roughly on the surface
no one needs to sink by oxygen
or rafts  moving between two sides of the same earth

there's wind in the lung
we cough up cyclones and seraph songs
to think that the youth march with steady
rhythm in their lungs
is a blaspheme to pollution

there's more carbs in our bones
we rim the fouls of earth
scavenger on our ineptitude to
prepare the roasting of meat,
long enough to tender

etched on our skins are the features of the earth
rounded to slide on top of our shoulders
consuming us like paper
in the face of soft yellow fire