Blinding And Grinding

the lost dinners beneath our feet
that crunch

in their clumsy fragments
defeatist: it’s all over

that blood-red sun is a rain
storm stuck on repeat and

it does so much
more for my skin

don’t look at me with those
dull, white eyes, and whistle

through crustaceans
your old, white song

forgive the chaos you’ve railed
against and been soundly ignored

i can’t speak for these shells
of men beside me but I’m sorry


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