The people lost in one big
massive motion, that looks
just like a sea of gray and faces,
all want to find their way
and be okay.
Ones who are assumed
to be the guilty, and live
their lives wrapped up
in scarlet cloth,
watch closely all the yellow
lights around them
and when they fall asleep
they count the burning moths.
Cabinets full of names
that carry context
can only get the reader
to a point.
She digs through all her
boyfriend’s drawers and finds it.
Then walks along the tracks
and smokes a joint.
I cannot see a difference
at the moment
between what people
say is far and what is few.
A giant squid encapsulates
the submarine, and through
the porthole lands its glowing
eye on you.

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