25 August 2022

Postcard 192

This being walking barefoot on asphalt to spare river-logged shoes, to feel
crime rise up heat. That much closer to annihilate, devastate, words that chop 

Earth marked soles that coil a simple stretched plane to rolls
to body warmth to dim light to must to just beyond sight

Possession: to own is fuel to anger from which hate is to heat. You know
this being with cracked blackened feet. And

This being, this other one, lies with short toes spread then curled
grabs - kicks down the clean sheet. Where is truth?

This beings with feets too wrapped in bunches folds to see what then?
when these two beings meet, congress, seek truth, stain the sheets

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