Swinging Boots

forward to these empty
gallows, where thoughtlessness
and mongering will end

where life that seemed endless
is bound in knots and burns
where the tired mob huddles

puzzling what happens next
fifty pieces adjourn
flinching and undoing

now paved fruited valleys
twisted past renewing
sour streams of yesterday

a soiled empty body
purged of warmth and clay
we were from florida

or maybe alaska
and other lands nearby
clung about our being

our necks snap together
this ongoing strangling
our polished boots swinging

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