Poem: Gin

I’m winning whether or not I know it, because

in the end I will have won, which is what we provide to all of us

the sense of victory, like deal-makers and carpet-layers

of the apocalypse, they will be remembered

by the forgotten, the agents of doom

planted in the ground, the artists unknowing will sweep

rendering all efforts fruitless, for only feelings alike thrive

as flowers at dawn, facts are like dust

in history books, specks might come

to be the seat of power, cementing expressions is necessary

facial stasis, for this fear of the heartless

craftsman is the highest ideal, for it is love

cowering from the threat of losing you, it is not weakness

O society, you darken the created day

with the sky falling, powerlessness provides a tonic

or mixing with liquor, pity and privacy

will be written down, remembrances of the past

as it really was, foggy.

Poem: Gin

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