We landed awoke as close as a stones
Throw through a window, clash; shards
We had arrived, immutable; mutable
Deserted by eye sight, readjusting
By form of deprivation; senses
Blunted, it was a long line
In the row of travesties sworn against
By chaos; The chaos
Clean up on aisle 6
We were above the spill
But not below cleaning it up.
Christopher Baird 2011 ©
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