Manmade Sapiens – Mitch Green

A Global Divergent Literary Collective

Grunge webbed ceilings
lunged lowly atop the impure
pagan elegance of lifestyle.
A tinfoil taped kitchen window
peered only in gold. Unfurled
garbage trashed the strewn
linoleum. Ruptured pipes
bled from the wooden walls.
A plate of cigarette ashes
censored the blushed areola
of paper girls, crinkled, rolled
and torn.

Stuffed sofas stabbed
open, suede skin of auburn.
Rubber bodies bed down like
damaged floorboards. Corvette
red gums crimped dabs of blood
to perspire. Travel bags packed
for home long ago robbed.

Water flogged denim and linen
wedged to spill over the skeletal
beds rid of sapiens. This
abandoned tabloid of an urban
omen made men mad by the odor,
who crowded ruined suits with
their fat wrists and bulbous bones.

Goddamn the white noise
in cold blood. It found us out.
The shortcoming of a man,
made manmade, running loud
and out of shape into the arms
of hell.

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