This is a poem about power and territorialism

I saw it so clearly.

The tracing of your hands upon the air,

You made zigga-zagga movements

And who would know that this your

Your way.

The traveller’s way to carve a rune

Into the flesh of the future?

You recast the air itself

As you always did when you felt

Your places closest to the fire was

Threatened…. A swish and a swash and you

Sprouted angels’ wings and breathed a

stinking innocence upon us all, even those

You love. Lightning quick, your rune took

Hold. And holds us all. In vicious thrall.


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