It’s a weird time to think of yourself as an individual—
To expose yourself to the otherness of safety, and
Count your fingers like money.
How holy they fall asleep in an ashtray.
Are you not on God’s ledge? Are you not drowning:
His Inhospitable water?
Why? Are you preoccupied with the color orange,
Or rain, or survival?
I see you running away from your
Problems. They got some of you before you were
Gunned down. Run, Beautiful.
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