the flatfaced apocalypse sneaks upon our heroes
while they eat a modest meal of figs and club soda
flood, lake Michigan, bring the bay to a stop
and see your threadbare crowds at a standstill
the test has to be bodies drained patients
a kind of sample group that gives thought
less blood and we are still right here
waiting to be fed any sort of process meat
then no love is empty no touch is meaning
less no kiss is left without a true smell
right but look at the hemispheres there’s
a way to see yourself alone with stars
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