Written by C Hues
April 23, 2024
There’s too much time
Too little margin of error
No reason or rhyme
In this rime of terror
Hell freezes over
Because you elected the unelectable
What was so visible
Is suddenly undetectable
And the spring gets colder
Shit is residual
Doesn’t it madden you?
Suppose it would if there’d been a soul.
The blood from 5th Avenue
Is the cost of the individual.