Once there was truth
and fact and evidence.

It was only once, though.
They did last a while

but then they were gone
and now everything is possible.

Right now, for example,
there are those who say the air

is full of blood-soaked cotton. It’s such
a threat. So many are cowering. 

People are wheezing
and choking, 

covered in crimson spray, angry at 
the atmosphere for staining them.

Prove them wrong. Just try. Prove that it’s not 
happening.  Point at spotless clothing,

unspeckled skin. It won’t matter. 
They’ll tell you you’re wrong 

and proclaim that they are going to drown
and insinuate, if not insist, that it’s your fault.

Prove me wrong. Try to prove them wrong.
Tell them it’s all in their heads — 

they’ll say it’s all in your lying books,
your false and fake churches, your own

mendacious skin.  And then in fulfillment
of prophecy they will flay you, club you,

pepper the earth around you with drops
of your own blood, then claim it’s not there

even as you stare through the haze,
your breath bubbling red as you die.