The Kids That Look Like Me Keep Dying
The kids grow out their bowl cuts.
The merry-go-round weeps
behind the Baptist church.
The kids of a few weak summers.
The kids listen to the good stuff
in the dark.
They rent VHS tapes
and eat Mike and Ikes
with eyes closed.
Every day is a happier end
of the world when the kids
that look like me
Born triggers without hands.
See: comparison between forests
The outskirts of growing up
twice. If there is mercy, it will
go in order. One day or three.