We have descended into
the dampness, the stale,
musty odor of disillusion,

our nerves like cave
boxwork, we tunnel out
to retinal destruction,

to ridicule,

declarations scorched
by the sun, mother
earth holds her eggs

in trembling hands,
gasping for breath
in this dense,

unforgiving air,
the castrated souls
of men float aimlessly,

awaiting the reckoning-

were it not for the
collapse of our lungs
we would cry out,

expand hope...
massage her womb
with tender palms,

witness his silent
vulnerability, unsheathe
his courage, our

vocal cords are
scarred, the pen is
angry; its capillaries

agitated, the page
splattered in a fury
of black ink.

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