nobody move!
i didn’t dare take a breath.
were we ready for a war?
hardly.
foolish children, fumbling forth,
into a hellish world we cannot call home.
we can never call home.
sometimes i want to peel my whiteness off
and reveal the weary rust within.
they stole my notebook.
that made me cry.
so i suppose
it’s the screen ’til another notebook finds its way
(home)
thoughts of home make me cry, too.
hardly home-cooked meals and wholesome family fun,
but far from the beaten existence of a violent culture.
it grows dark, i grow weak.
i shall nestle in my hermitude,
i shall not speak.
elsewhere, egos soar and inflate,
i refuse to play all human games and sit.
and run.
and contemplate:
i
hate
ny.
but i love you i love you i love you!
and we are alive, somehow!
(at least the dogs smile,
fuzzy like furry like funk
crunch crunk)
a patter on the pitterpane, i’m parched!
[a shot fires, babies cry, the train goes by]
(no lie)
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