Brazen Days, Blighted Nights.





No knock.  Just
shove. No thought.
Just crush the bawling obstacles
raising
fists at your mask.  Brace
for tasks less savory
for tasks less sweet
than the lances of rain that fall
into the potholes
in the drive.
Brass monks shuffle
along the battlements.
We can’t eat
this hawk because
it has already eaten
us.

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