we’re all millipedes now

seven roars of banality, the semi-truck screams maddeningly down atlantic ave

silent omissions, the guise of truth

not not relative, but

fatalistically unreliable, and

what can one mean to say without transgressing

we live in violent currents, eddies of self-referential transgressivism

‘i am transgressed’

qualities within include not

empathy in fear, hearing the echo, cochlea searing

we’re all millipedes now

walking there and back looking screaming

demand, signal, revenge,

seeing only the hundred-fifty scratching forward ignoring

our six hundred dragging back.


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