It had been awhile, since March? Who knows? I kept waiting for the rain while not only my throat, but my heart was parched.
Maybe you think you picked the right side in this fratricide. Maybe you think the wounds to your soul weren’t fatal, because there is no blood lost in this ersatz exsanguination.
Maybe it isn’t too late.
We have all lost wars.
And we have no monuments to our bombast and vanities
Whether our hair is kinky