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Give Them Your Senses

By Leslie T., Brooklyn, NY

Give Them Your Senses

I’ve seen it oh so many times.

The light into darkness,
the darkness into light.
From youngest of the young,
To the oldest of the old,

They’re dying.

Molding into a shape like no other,
Molding into things we use as weapons,
Bazooka. Machine Gun. Rifle.
Another… and another.
Gangrene gangs of gangs are fightin’,
Enumerating each move they make.
Every life they take.
[Grown and deceased] on 56th and Delridge,
Everybody blinder than moles.
Red stains covered an innocent,

In days of yore.

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