Critical Mass

Tadpoles swim
In badly-drawn circles.

I look for colors on the interstate
And try
Not to pretend
To be

On purpose.

I carry myself in a misshapen parcel,
From breeze to breeze.
Mind stubborn as the September heat.

My eyes are still
Water pools
Weary with the task of sitting.

My thoughts,
Nothing more than the rainstorm’s
Exhalation—
Skeletons
And debris.

Critical Mass

Zoe Rae

San Francisco, United States

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Artwork Comments

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