Apocalyptic poems, posted every m-f.

epitaph

there is a shortage of leather,
or perhaps a surplus of bikers,
after the apocalypse

they bury their dead in
the ugly hull of detroit –
dead biker city.

there is a single epitaph for
all of them,
carved into the city’s welcome sign:

“i didn’t fall from grace –
i leapt.”

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