a poem for Xu Lizhi


all meaning is found
scraping the dirt off the feet
of the blind giants that
stumble around crushing
what is left of natural beauty


malnourished is the mind and thin
and childish and tired of we
who truly do live the land
and i could not begruge you
for picking your own last sunrise

who could?

every soul-filled puss-bag groans
at the sound of the rumbling giants
first thing in the morning
and only the calloused want to watch
the last sunrise, the last beautiful thing


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