As I look around at these
the boarded up windows
that now see a vast nothingness;
much like guava pudding after it has set out too long, I see what the windows can't
Messes around the block, in the yards, staunch supporters of non support,
neglect like the bumblebee too drunk from "pollinating" ,
carousing in the flower bars.
Who are you, what am I?
these questions are easily answered,
if not for the unsuckled teat of the morass.
you will know when the time licks at the door to your soup.
fragile beast, hiccupping in the sand.
broken glass, tortilla in your breadmaker.
stand down.
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