Sometimes you think
Hell rained over
Dripping amber waves of salt
Onto the kitchen linoleum
The morning news full of so much heat
Hot machine-gun fire and blood oozing
From the hearts of foreign babies
By the time it reaches my table
That angry fire and pain and wet tears has dried out
The blood aged, turned to rust
Dehydrated tears, piles of salt
And don’t you know?
Both sugar and salt lower the freezing point of water
But I’m not concerned about a sea of sugar
It’s the salt, piling up on those purple mountains
I’m not worried about the world melting, either
Ice cubes do it all the time and find their place
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