It was an
unsettling, they said
a
conspiracy of silence
to blunt
the sharp sticks that
pointed at
them
once before
time
we felt the
smallness
until we morphed into
strangers
and became what they hid
now we
watch from the rooftops
balance on
wires
impervious
to the buzz and
the hissing rain
scavengers,
they call us
a blot on
the landscape
their duality
lost as
they pick and they
pick
at the
bones of
existence
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