the tail end

venture to guess X number

less of our fellow human beings
not that it ever did

life seems
especially meaningless
chaotic when surveyed
from the tail end
of a year such as this

sharp loss
seasoned with terror
at the close of the deadliest
year in our history

the horrible
the unnecessary
the senseless


“Colonizers write about flowers.
I tell you about children throwing rocks at Israeli tanks
seconds before becoming daisies.
I want to be like those poets who care about the moon.
Palestinians don’t see the moon from jail cells and prisons.”
— Noor Hindi / “Fuck Your Lectures on Craft, My People Are Dying”

About istsfor manity

i'm a truncated word-person looking for an assemblage of extracted teeth in a tent full of mosquitoes (and currently writing a novel without writing a novel word) and pulling nothing but the difficult out of the top hat while the bunny munches grass in the hallway. you might say: i’m thee asynchronous voice over in search of a film....
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