age of crows or the
season of bright laughter
some goddamn useless
moment in time
waiting to become an
event
some small rusted piece
of christ
broken off and sold but
i have no money and
i have no faith
i find out later how many
people were disappeared
by
government on the day we
met
i consider palaces
built from the
bones of the butchered
dream of vast machines
fuelled by human blood
and
when we wake up we
wake up alone in
strangers’ beds
trade dirt for ashes and
call it even
call it love
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