Others Cradling Yacub's Creation

Poem By Ryan Frazier

In the womb
desertion gains violet insight
on the war machines.
In the valley of refusal the puppets
groan hymnals to their own hands
and cup sound around my ears.

Mad-eyed ceaseless whispering,
stomachs full of grease,
they sing
the same notes into illness.

Sitting on deathbeds, they
envision the chimney as a soldier
spitting rhetoric from the top of his

Aside the short autumns of ambition
horses knead hooves into dust as
zealous apathetics do what they
to hold the sea at bay.

The settings toggled always.
We forget our fortunes.

While a graveyard shakes
into morning,
the scarab
focuses on dead bonfires
and aging leaves.

With one match, the world is burned.
The levers sew landscapes, using our
hair as thread.

In this machine of perfection
the cowards rock back and forth,
from drive to reverse.
From richer to poorer.

I cover my ears and
smoke my smiles
with patience and

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