The tissues of fate
moved by wind on April’s balcony
sweep the hands privately
and though we cannot island, connected
to racist rapist thieves
entitled brutes
dumb boys dumb women
we find a way to interwind
like two frogs on a leaf
and whisper, laugh and laugh
real happy and real
sad in the sad extreme:
I am a barrel of gasoline
deep in the arctic
its significance unrealized.
I am a flame new to the arctic.
Soon you will realize.
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