ESCAPE CAUSE
Under the streetlight, the skins
of old animals are dancing,
laughing at the white thing that huddles by the tree,
afraid to breathe.
A face is raised to me
in pity like poor bread,
but I’ve already crossed the street.
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CALL ME ISHMAEL You know why? Because I said so. If I live long enough to make it to an airport without losing any oxygen, if I use my mo...
