The polluted stream looks
almost purple in the sunrise
and in her eyes I can tell
that she is angry to the ends
of every version of the earth.
Mutated fresh water squids
suction cup themselves
to jagged rocks to keep
from getting further lost
but at the cost of getting
cut by all the edges.
The acid in their blood
poisons everything
and rests like a film
on the bobbing surface.
I feel worthless in
the shadow of the mounting
odds and with the gods
all bored of melting
action figures with acetone,
they look over their shoulders
back in our direction and whisper
how they told us more than once.

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