failing
to be a hunger artist
I stumble
around the mansion of words
from room to room
hunting poems to eat
crawling
out of the boarded up window
I am lucky to find
a thousand blank verses
dangling on the lower tip
of a crescent moon
Shot Glass Journal, 3
Special Feature: Selected Poems for Reflections on America 250
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*On the Brink of Trumperica*, XII
the people of Trump
by the people of DOGE
for the people of the SuperRich ...
sun-blea...
