souls

The roadkill are fain to visit us at our humble abodes.
They are beautiful distortions, all sorts of creatures
speaking a poisonous language we faintly recognize,
even a few fish with big mouths. The words
we don’t understand dissolve them. Impartial eyes
place them between those words in the air.
We don’t want to know what they usually do.
Let us just say, they laugh at our expense.
Or they like to panhandle in the fields,
languidly becoming heraldic. They know what
humanity is. They know how to erase it from our souls.

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