new ink made the world surge

sixty dead from trampling few

of them men

 

if I were

a member of the stampeding

party?  fireworks gone

 

bananas, the world churned

afterwards children crushed petals

what power is

 

this power — foot on ribcage can’t

look down sometimes in crowds

carried along

 

who kills like that or lives

anonymously when no charges

press

 

who puts

a clean shirt on the next

day over no marks

 

no place

on the body in the world

records

 

the bruised flower clothing

on the street all broken

stalks swept away

 

ashcan ashcan ashcan

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