one day you realize
your hands are caught
in the hardened cement
set who knows how long ago
ensnared on all fours
shackled to the ground
your neck and shoulders 
can only wiggle around 
can only squirm so much
as you try to look around 
and to figure out what 
might've happened, or when

you can hear the blaring
sounds of trucks backing up
their tires eating at the earth
feels like gnawing at your bones
their godly engines' deep whirring 
like the purring of a dead cat
which is actually just the sounds 
of the larvae writhing inside

the air tastes like sulfur

there are others here
others that look like you
lying hopeless on their stomachs
or with their backs arched ever
so slightly, trying to stretch
out of lethargy, trying
to ward the pain away

none of the others have any hair
and it dawns on you that although 
you can't feel much of anything
you specifically cannot 
feel yours either
and wonder if
it's still 
there

they lower their heads
as soon as you try
to look at their eyes
you try to call them
but your voice is mute 
and there simply is no way
in this uneventful predicament
of knowing if it's actually silent 
or if it's being buried by
the ceaseless screams 
of industry

you can see booted legs going around
walking by in an orderly fashion
and wonder if they feel freer
than you and your wristbound kin
your collarbones ache badly so you 
instinctively roll your neck
which allows you to catch 
the glimpse of a blurred figure 
up in the operator's cabin 
of one of the smaller 
drone-like machines
hovering about
menacingly 
and you cannot help 
but to notice that 
its eyes are set upon you
staring heavily, unnervingly
and it makes you slightly dizzy

the clouds hang low and smell like rot

and just as your thoughts 
turn to hopelessly wondering
if there had been any moment
you could have done anything
to prevent any of it
some synapses in your brain
receive the soft impulse 
like an unexpected whispering
travelling from far, far away 
down on your left arm side
where you now remember
there was once a hand

a finger moves
timidly at first
frightenedly, almost
and then more agitatedly
and then another, and another
and soon you feel your whole hand
twitching, stretching, fluttering
from within your grouted captivity
moving in ways that definitely
defy the old laws of physics

both of your hands now
sprawling like roots
spreading under the ground
reaching, grabbing, piercing
thirsty for everything
an instinct of survival 
found within, unforeseen
from the depths of despair
your fingernails scratching
digging through the foundations
crawling towards the unknown
until you meet another's hand
cautious at first, untrusting
but rapidly finding ways to share
to tame and disarm the waryness
and start swirling together
a playful bonding, love unearthed 
recognizing the ungovernable relief
which inevitably sprouts and grows
from the undying magic of community

on the surface, nothing gives
as the destruction-addicted
go on with their business
yet underneath, even those 
who can no longer breathe 
are now holding hands, rooted
life calmly flowing around
in this weird, weird way
only it knows how

your eyes meet the gaze 
of another, and another, smiling
and soon many others as you notice 
that they lower their heads no more
it is impossible to hear them
but through the dust you can see 
their mouths moving with resolve 
and with a newfound dignity
the likes of which you've never seen
you cannot possibly hear their song
through this gut-wrenching noise
or can you? it does not matter
you spontaneously start singing along
you do not know of the song you sing
but as a teardrop forms in your eye
drips from your cheek, falling
down to the burning pavement

you trust that all that was made
can be undone
and that things
are about to change