Everyone scrambles to the top 

of the JENGA blocks

and tries not to blow away

(which is hard for a husk of a human hollowed out one grasping handful at a time).

But the howling wind atop the towers cannot topple them. They

Are held down by a lightless power, 

A gum-like goo stuck to their shoes that creeps up their legs to their

Heart, inflates them like a balloon.

But before their heads explode with the stuff

They scream, “We will never be finished.

All is never enough.”

Meanwhile below,

Level 0 of the JENGA block tower,

The Have-Nots are having their way—hammering away at the foundations—

giving chaos its way.

A little while now and the big shot bobble-head

Will burst

Raining his sick ambition down 

The Have-Nots will have their fill and –that not being enough—will

Devour each other on their way to the top


And as a new wave scampers up the tower,

Feeling their chests inflated and a certain 

New grip in their toes,

The blocks will shift and the structure buckle

And the tower will slowly go.

Except for the Littles.

So small and unimpressive, bracing each other, back to back,

They hold the tower barely standing 

About to crush the masses.

The Littles are hollow too,

Gutting themselves long ago, but a song

Echoes from inside them,

Stretching out from their cavities, refracting endless empathy



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