Junk Mail

It never hits like a headline More like a scrap from some fucked up ordinary Floating your way across rivers and mountains Junk mail from an alternate reality I learned the name for a feeling And now I can taste that there's blood on every table Every word now haunted by how it might be changing The tang of iron was unmistakable I went back to the country New life was burning through the birch trees My brother's kid was playing I heard what she was saying Some changes don't happen over centuries