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Still Water

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  • 1 min read

by Christian Aldana


the white house—sob!!—is sick.

here lies—er—er—
the United—whee—
understood its strategy
to lose votes

your screen—ech—
has been running—awk—
a gold grin
wide & empty.


america is stuck in business with henry

that’s true … why

Henry may be found in a grave.
A hundred years blur
& somewhere
Henry hacks
the ghastly little cough
& missing his heart,
Henry knows he won’t be missed

a modest eagle spread could happen to life
explain death to this little handkerchief
my phone tells a bullet sandwich explain that
your shotgun

verbed of dooming news,
so sick & emptying,
mother pried dove light
after dawn for forty years.
i broke down his mind,
felt like i should have done that
& the guy shot & bucked
and i did not hold back,
i refuse the mind
as mine,
was a grizzly

the source
is quiet, quite alone
& i’d leave it

he won’t make it out.
pain may come,
it will come
from here,
in here,
to there.

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