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It was a knife sliced between bone
one I could feel but not reach;
It was stone crushed onto the second and third toes
of my one good foot; It was breath
sent into the atmosphere
and then not coming back;
It was only a game
like truth
or dare, meant to be funny, friendly,
impertinent:
tag the person you’re most scared to lose
it read. It was scatter shot
burnt through my abdomen;
who,
who am I still afraid to lose
now that I’ve lost
so
many.

Apocalypse

Mornings are crisp now

so the hollow pealing of bells

from San Raphael Parish climb

the cemented hills more easily.

Summer’s weighty enclosure of air

shattered a week past

and aggressive city squirrels gnaw

through Jack O’Lanterns, gorging

for what lies ahead.