100 degree
mornings I
hose down the whole
patio into a
swampy escarpment
I sit in the middle
of dripping
gleaming
are we the kinds of
child-geniuses at
failure who stand
on corners yelling
We Want War We Want War
then running off
and getting caught
and beaten
chortles the TV but
whenever I try to reality
return those
lost lives always
the lost thrive more.
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