we are so far from those honey-

we are so far from those honey-
fences, looking in
on the cemetery of our
youth, without a trace
of fear
for our mortality, but
instead, for the boogie
man, for losing the way
home, for abandonment.

these days, we wear purpose-
fear, preparing
for that eclipsed
moment, when there is
no hope
of rescue,
and frailty
is a tarantula
of glances


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