An unknown heaviness in the air
as if each gas was a loaded isotope
as if every little bit of water vapour
were made instead with deuterium
as if your arteries were clogged but
with lead instead of innocent fat.
I go into a classroom.
A wall of various faces
detesting how the idea of education itself
is premised upon hope
even the criticism
premised upon an imagined
reuptake of the utopian flavor of control
and how teaching criticism
feels like an exercise in astrology
when all fears come vaguely true
in a vague amount of time
for a vaguely coherent set of persons.
the impossibility of knowing if THIS is dystopia
today. is it today at 16.21 o clock?
Are we failing to see or seeing too much,
and who is scaffolding seeing?
Is THIS specific imagination of the end
true or is far
and how likely would it be for us to survive
and where
and how far away
and how far away from exactly what?
Such a time
that whole years are like nuclear isotopes
of normal minutes
loaded with extra neutrons in their hearts
bursting
like a doomsday prepper's plastic shopping bag
containing far too many rolls of
metal toilet paper.
Every tear rolling swiftly,
is heavy water.