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like a murder of crows become leaves become
sky become night become the grace of the rotting
roots to earth.

swarm, awaken, crawl from basements, babbling
curling out over the streets, hot full moon nights on bars we
are alive are alive we
will never die.

and the tree’s branches spiral to heaven and there is grace
in its murder of crows.



we are so so eager

eager to get out and come together

small groups becoming large


crowded, unshuttered bars overflow onto patios

onto sidewalks, onto streets


crowds of people huddle together

under sympathetic streetights


There is no talk of science or Responsible behavior

logic takes a night off 

knowing this is more detour than cure 





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