habitat is immensely similar to peach and fuzz,
crawling out between
shards of metal
that store a futile race around and around,
except there is never a winner.
Striving, we want to win,
but it’s not that way in our circles.
When we accept defeat, accept the futility,
then we are in trouble for not
staying on the track.
It’s mostly coal from the structures
covering my face,
making me unbearable to myself.