at the flooded place

our toe nails are dirty
the four boys who endlessly
speak of the pleasures
the pain women bring
our girls
the women

i hate this life
i think I do
but I hate more the fact
bare bottomed, that I shall miss this life
its simple complexities
the hazy loyalties

we trudge on
i am at the center
we’re at the center
waiting to be torn by time
we, us
all the boys

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