you’re laughing too loud

the wind picks up a might
and I feel the need to
race the coming rain
race it clad in a stolen pinion
race it into the ground
race in beneath the ground
race it beneath the soil
where the worms
and the unspeakables
will greet me.

Sometimes I wonder
if the birds of downtown
sing to self-soothe
or if it’s
straight-up pity for us
that moves them.

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