Attic Door

What have those offerings

When total shifts of earth

Make bloodless bird necks

Out of people like you?

Why is this pitiful business

Deserted and writhing

Like so many lake watered eels

Crowing like slowly butchered victims

Gently placed on white hot cast iron?

Where is your erosion sifting?

If not on the bottom floor of your misery,

Could it be beyond your attic door of simplicity?


The End

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