RENEE CUENIN Fear See the troop-taken trail. Revolt on a cold day, Filled with cruel shrapnel. Earth is a slab; happiness, a myth. Try to think of days. Duels, cops, barbed wire. The acts oflife often lend to Such claims being shook, Pecked apart, Slammed like that van into the partition. It's no longer artful. Its nest is pulled away by an owl. Every day is the same metal can. Urine dribbles down sore thighs. You are the Ishmael of the family And the team has already darkened every lamp on deck. 5
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