Fingertips holding
The cigarettes we used to
share
A time when whiskey
dwelled on your breath
you’d turn
***** eyed, tender,
And say
Are you ready
to go home?

You drove my car the way I imagined you would
On the 5 smoking a pack of cigarettes
I complained about the educational system
And you reminded me of all the ways
****’s ****** up
So I promptly fell in love with you
stuck in traffic behind a big, white truck

Cries of suffering once distant are now—
Now what? Proximity should make
no difference
And yet
When an animal suffers by
existing it is the natural order of
humans.

I at times wonder,
what should we call the mess we’ve
made? Labels feign importance
A category is a hierarchy
A tyrant is nothing without
Fear and prey

Prey, fear, repeat.