The Exact Moment of Small Comfort

No one likes you or dislikes you
whatever that color is in the middle

a green, just inside
being closer to dying

the mean, the law of savages
the point at which your face

becomes caked in need of nothing
muddy camouflage, carefully applied

to whatever greenish-brown thing
happened to you, is still happening

something will get a good meal out of me
that’s why it’s not sad

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