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Rot Where They Lay

These boats go by water &

by spirals of tundra to impose

inflections on litanies of locals

to toss molten nickels

from roof of empire's church

with dry-rot in the

load-bearing pillars

as a ptarmigan yawns

we are clipping thru

Flaherty's silent frames


in two centuries

all things fall apart

such cosmopolitan alibi

the city lights accept madness

is this open grave, perhaps boneyard?

careening jet planes on trial

jettisoned to the absolute end

of all topography to break

the simulation as we

are choking on our insides

banging on the edge of the world



Justin Chase Jones is a mentally ill poet based in canada.

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