fuck macho bullshit forever

Something goes on and on and does not die

like wind in a jar, it looks dead, open it again and

it’s out, it’s wind again— spit on the street

it’s all in the air in a few, breathe in, breathe out

same air as dinosaur farts, mammoths bleating

cries of little children never found or found too late,

there must be a line through all this, somewhere a line

that when you cross it, sun on one side, shadow

on the other, Israeli and Palestinian, it’s not a seed,

it’s a husk, not a bug, just a shell, the impression

of the thing that once was, bones that used to be

and a bit of fiber, mat of hair or mud, not even that,

a smell, leftover stench of it, evokes some thing

passing memory, pinkness of electrons floating in

the brain, thought ruffled like hair, mussed and—

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