whip-poor-wills,
night birds warbling in the buck
the heathen as bare,
barren as the louse
chopsticked sidewalks
eat dust,
desecrated dust and concrete
a city so empty
it sounds of an unvaccinated howl
loud then quiet then loud again
like nail bread thumping down narrow stairs
we’ve imagined more
than this last night on earth
bent over grinding machines
imagined so much
we could bite off our tongues
This work originally appeared in the print edition of Locust Review #7.
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