poetry critical

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Here the world opened its mouth
and vomited on us.
And prayer to a thousand gods failed.
Here trees resemble the ruptured limbs of dinosaurs.
And a lone door swings in the wind,
walls of its church bob in the atlantic.
Here birds have no roofs to nest. They know to fly to the eye
quotes a meteorologist. A toyota rests there now.
Here we calculate and gamble with the
expiration dates of milk, apples, cats, the elderly.
And ignore the sacred for the edible. Hoard.
Here there is no north or south.
Direction, mass, gravity, morality, what is mine and yours are folly.
Here words fled to the back of our throats
convicts roam free and  blessed.
Here our buried ancestors have returned
buoyant and obese.
Here there is no here.
It is not even over there.
Here we are seen for the first time
by a journalist who records our stories
and will forget us in two weeks.
Here mothers breast feed unrelated children
men crumble only to lick their tears.

23 Sep 17

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Hurricane in the membrane
 — unknown

while I have no idea, and its a great poem, I kinda want more out of the phrase in 13-14, It doesn't particularly denote lawlessness or generosity.

thanks, good read
 — morningbring

Cool po
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