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Collapse Seems Too Romantic a Word

Shanna Compton

for bursting
aslosh the midcountry—
oh there it goes
floating by

Can't rightly be called a river
A siloful squirreled away sours

A swollen tongue
saying a lot of nothing

And to continue
the futile glut
of gullet-shoveled

Really, they call it
a rape rack

Some refuse
Some refugees

A so-called national mood
An onslaught dispiriting
(Turn that fucking thing off please)

Our angst is placid,
replaceable, as if
it ebbed a little way

or anyway
it's everywhere

We've rationed can-do

If we could reach
that downed line

we might
welcome the shock

Shanna Compton

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