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Stampede: The Bitumen Blooms
“Stampede: The Bitumen Blooms”
All the promises under the Sun
could never buy time, and
all that glistens on a wrist in a heartbeat succombs
peels away the romance
like tinfoil scraps, wrapped and cutting like razors
into the skin of what matters most
liked barbed wire
around a wrist bleeding
glistening golden brands like some kind of reigning crown
the so-called pulse of keeping up with the J’s
will never deliver the most precious intangible,
it burns inside out unseen
underneath the bitumen
the buried truth blooms
strange journeys crawl
and their animals released
from the cage,
eventually,
stampede;
sacrifices are made.
Candide Diderot. ‘25
Copyright ©
Candide Diderot
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