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Saturday, July 26, 2025

eddy wastrel (2017)



four hart in a stream owned by tomorrow

whose factory-sluice death runs cold their marrow

three eagles gnaw salmon killed off by tycoons,

ten aeons hence, one mushroom-cloud june,


storm clouds are canned, come popping from nodes

on digital whims and oligarch codes 

nine wolves deep cave resting, prowling nocturnal

 five winds sub-arctic, hell cats primordial


cubicle glacier, our snowshoe of speed

runs factory precision on table spread greed

a billion tonnes calving but who really counts

our personal souls droppings: a whopping one ounce


 floating past gods, their form in the doe

our human waste frozen and nowhere to go








2017

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