19.04.25
The burning sun
burning when you took my arm
in maple rustles
& you depose life itself
your hatred’s slued in to
prefab wells
like molasses reminders
blackened like molasses
that keep scentless
and remind the welt again
of its progress & what is it
unmouthed furled & bent
to place, on the supply chain
inside the actual supply chain
networked chained to waste
the strained love of
order fulfillment
