and spat it out

and for many years it crawled

before it learned to stand

where it said “I will make you now a fresh bowl,

from my family’s blood”

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what crisis?

nowadays they have to pinch the ends

of their cigarettes before they cross the threshold

no longer allowed to herd the crumbling swarms

of ash across the gingham veldt

outside the window, on the pavement,  lies a bible

and the radio declares their readiness is high

seems like a good night to let the smokers

in and warm around a last ember...

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