I want to be annihilated completely, I want reciprocal forgetting, I want the angels not to recognize me.

Not dead yet…

The Tribe

We sat, huddled
On the dark path
Beside the train track

A sweatshirt-hooded tribe
Chanting over Amir’s
Burning collage

We watched his picture
And accomplishments
Burn from the center out

Fanning the fire
And kindling it with grass
Until the very cardboard
Caught a lusty fire
And smoke choked the air

Erik pissed on the ashes
Completing our ritual
Of teenage badassery

Composed solely of “us”
The world was in our arms
Narrow and close together

Born again into members of
The secret society of eight


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