Turbulence

rapping on my forehead
it’s beginning to leave a bruise
who knows

and soon perhaps it’ll benumb the knocking
which wants to get in
sit in the burger joint
say fuck it as i rise to lead the beggary
the poor
the hungry
insecure
who knows

holding out an outstretched hand
come take it last
so i hobble forth on these cracked and truest wings
hearing fingernails almost click against the glass
the fingers beckoning
and the rest
who knows

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