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Leaden knockoff humans
tilting their eyes down
at anyone who has fallen
in a fit of weeping
brook side or in a hallway of grey linoleum
where urine drips out of the slammed lockers
leaden their dancing their dreaming
their horror of mercy and hard-lived lives
dying to look nowhere, to be nowhere
anti-souls who took the anti-dote
sitting down, silenced and scraping
the bottom of their insides for some purchase to make
that will vinegar the depths to fruition of mop head face garden
failed rep antiquity unit
galumphing at fossils and driveway maggots
slitting toad wallets to reveal silver all over
the ice planet of dead fuck.