the bastion

it makes little difference,

how gold filters the naked and clothed
distinctions. we create

imprints
crafted into more than skin and bone,

move side by side,
jump and fall

down, down, down,
and whittle away.

i mourn
as second skin crawls its way in.

outside, flowers bloom,
fruits rot.

birds, bees, flies, maggots
shed themselves of another day.

unopened letters keep pouring in,
they wait for answers.

pregnant clouds bear down
on migraine and gout.

i breathe
bread, bleach, blood, boredom.

given time,
wine and vinegar grow from the same tree,

and that makes me smile.

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