poetry, today.

flaps of skin shake,
slap down with soles.
artillery on wet cement.
lungs balloon, shudder,
shrivel to husks
before the next breath.
sweat cuts a path
down your back to the dirt.
you leave a long enough trail,
streets don’t have signs,
eventually.
run if you have to.
bodies break,
but, i mean,
run if you have to.

tried some poetry tonight–it’s been a looong time, but i want to try some different things. i mean, i could just write fiction everyday, but that wouldn’t be much of a challenge.

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