Pour into me
As the river
In the moments that I am whole
As if flowing water is something
that I know.
In concepts of home
And peace
abandoned like footprints in
time
That never lead anywhere
empty as their apathy
sensitive to their nature.
Experiencing it more as time than
as space
As though existence for all is a
kind of frustration
No matter how it’s sliced
Like so many nicks
in our fingertips,
Bruises on our psyche,
Chainsaws to our limbs
allocations of nervous tissue
empty beyond our personal
experience
as if I am hearing them shriek in terror
worthless to come to their aid
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