what am I doing
scrabbling around the old bottle dump?
why is it so compelling
to spike at the ashen ground with a rusted bolt
disinterring face cream pots
brandy bottles, pan yan pickle jars
a proprietary mix for the bloody lung
half a china cat; a valve
and how am I to stop
now the ash blood is up
there’s a cemetery nearby
will I drag my bolt over there
start tearing at the ground
tossing out femurs, metatarsals, elder roots
what’s this? and this?
who were they?
who the hell were they?

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