The hole isn’t over yet
It goes on making
Us subject to a debt no alibi will credit
No convalescence distinct from a dying
We have just begun to accept
The Big Subject is real, big night
And disaster’s our only possession
Since it makes us kin to the real

Take those sutures off
The damage is done (not just to the symbolic order)
We want now to see the mined earth
The wrecked water tables
Shorelines drenched with
You-know-what

Little ones know
This is the way
We still get born
In the air, in our accomplice
To action
The way we keep digging
Here so that
Nothing grows but silence
Enveloped by interruption, by hiatus
The severance from the world
These worlds of words must be
Simply to continue, to be ongoing
(I can’t even say the word “sustainable” anymore,
I can’t even say the word “green”)