stampede

there is a luminous
silent core
of small kindnesses
sending thin bright tendrils
out
to the edges
where most of us live,
as assemblage
built on barbarism
and layered like loose pages
long since thumbed through
and discarded
we, a stampeding illness
kicking up dust of disregard
screaming
from the hymnal
of death and renewal
as the cracks between us
fill with silt
absently swiping threads
of light from our shoulders

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