clay, under my fingernails
clinging to clay,
i want the babies
to stop dying.
i want
my friends to stay
here,
i want to stay
in my delusion
that this is all there is,
as the slimy brown & red muck
slides through my fingers
& i watch it all
melt away,
washed down
into rain gutters
sent back in
to replenish
what’s left;
clay,
fragile, tenuous stuff that it is,
i’m clinging
to clay. 


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zaidsong
Poetry
Free Verse
writing zaidsong
"We play da blues, so's da blues don' play us..." (Old Jazz adage)
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