| Poetry |
In Here
It's gotten mean in here,
slapstick angels
in the place of men
and better things,
angry voices spewing
inconsistent dreams.
Since you're gone
it's gotten cold and dim,
the ice hangs off of limbs
that used to flaunt
and scream.
It's gotten sick in here,
the way they lay
in hoards
and percolate
their loss and meager ruin.
A kite would never float
in skies made thick
with what is left
in here, these broken
men in toppled cages
waiting to be saved.
It's gotten so a voice
with razor shine
would never rise
above the dizzy drone.
It's gotten mean in here
without your voice
to see us through.
by Kevin Craig
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