Ian Randall Wilson

Issue #
January 31, 2017


A constellation of bodies
falling to the ground.
The demonstrators have shut off
the major thruways
tonight. He watches from home.

A man buys a house
and contours his lawn.
The sky is new
overhead every morning.
The green shrubbery collects itself
for his daily return.

To think of losing this
makes it hard to breathe.
The many lost already.
The earth rushing up
to receive them.

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