Spirit portrait poem- untitled


When I see you wasting away


like an old lion picked apart by vengeful gazelles

I can only smell the stench of stale rye

grey pudding like an alleyway puddle

incubating larvae outside this godforsaken DMV

where you are rotting, bathing in polite elevator music

and glaring at customers who are not trapped in this short, stocky building

for the rest of their days like you, doing your daily 9-5 tango for sloths

You are a California redwood and your own weed.


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