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[but how long into the apocalypse could you go before having to kill some white dude?]: A Poem

i want to believe
i would take
debris & craft
an arch

not rush my hands
to draw a long red line
down his face
spit from a red mouth
above the brow
or dig a tunnel
through the lung
just wide enough
for a spirit to flee

how long after
water becomes rare
do we become
what we won’t name?

how long could you
starve before
you rob a man or
hunt him?

i fear my making
how quick i might
into a new kind
of creature

i can’t
say i wouldn’t