Before you register for the oblivion, stat

dear friend, apocalypse child

Strewn in headlights, your hooves

clicking and steady

into the night. Hearts hold us

we will live on.


Ripped out on lines and waves

Broadcasting, heavy

The last bough breaks and our shield is gone

The antenna cracks in three parts.

No one was going to be here

on purpose

or make believe

but there we walked, bone beneath their snout. Chewing singularly.

Spitting up upchucks of what Nike needs us to consume like, swoosh

tax included.


But then we fought.


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