once in a forest
where the fungus spirit spoke
we flexed our language
& lifted up new gods
we fashioned beadwork
that brought out mischief
in each other's eyes
our currency fit in our hand
a sharpened stick
a piece of bone
......................
we still live
in an actual world
but abstract languages permit
its blithe immolation
patterns of brain writhe
at separation from our other selves
our fingers now are numb
we feel nothing but
rape &
plastic
great poem
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