DOWN

Fall silent and away
a sweeping nightstick on
your slanting back.

Fall silent, voice upon voice, stamped
out near withering cigarettes, in exchange
for second-hand teardrops, cracked yet
functional, and stale baguettes.

In this way, the martyrs of our age
pave peaked avenues, gaunt as sunlight,
with unmoving, garnet throats.

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