The Slaughterhouse
In the slaughterhouse
they brood
the tired men
in cement rockers.
Silence
born in the midst of drudgery.
The strong men
will always be considered
lowly primates.
God is enough;
this train doesn’t move.
The young softly go away,
nervous,
wobbly,
afraid this wretched existence
is punishment.
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K-Mart Lotus Eternity
We are all inferior articles
that won’t last long.
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