They lie scattered
along dusty windowsills,
their half-moon corpses
like white crosses
on the interstate,
and we, who are drunk
on survival, who are as small
as we’ve imagined ourselves
in nightmares, need
to know that they didn’t feel
any pain, that their tiny lives
were worth living, that they died
in search of sweetness.
by Andy Pokel
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Andy,
great to see you in print.
Norm
Very nice.
This is so strong and precise – powerfully done via apparent simplicity. Thank you.