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Escaping the harshness
of a pandemic
I swim for this                                                        
antipathy to end
like sandscapes where
sea turtles go under
to lay eggs because
conceiving is difficult,
and breaking in
requires some distance
from anything infernal
and transgressive.
Perhaps, the greatest act
is a magic touch,
to embrace a philosophy
no longer to seek revenge
but to overwhelm
warlike effusions
even when it hurts,

because adversaries
will always be there,
harmful and hostile,
one only needs to
crush such intrusions
with a straight cut.
But when I think about 
family and friends who
leave early, I learn
to exhale each ferocity.
I cruise along, concealing
peels and peels of sadness.
Such aimlessness will
be vanquished, curling
into the sea, like dolomites
and discomfort in clusters
where lead, arsenic, acidity
linger elsewhere,
someplace where I will
not slink even further.


My village feasts on
the proximity of trains.
There, I draw card
board pictures out
of trees, plains, hills,
mountains, streams
surrounding the lake
where everything I eat
engulfs an affliction.
Trains passing through
my village prevail
exceedingly on hues
obscuring my vision.
Green, my appreciation
of trains sustains a dream
that someday, taking on
trips will tug me away
from filth and smallness.
These days, tracks from
my village wreathes
into signs, syllables 
are needing love.
The absence of trains turns
silly, crustily neglecting pits
and cracks inside marrows
bereft of rails,
bereft of the blaze,
bereft of glister.



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