My tyrants are dying.
And already I've realized
The mistake spread through
all our moves.
We partied, bringing down their statues
Thinking the concrete was an obstacle
To our freedom
Non-concrete
They linger around,
Serving as comfort
For the new world's hesitation
Weakness stored up,
by their stoppering feet
Unleashed as explosions,
Crushing insights
The paradise they stepped on
Is suddenly no closer
All the nights spent talking
With them
Only weaken the struggle
Slogans and forts,
in fragility, equal
to theirs
All dissolved
by the security of an ungripped shoulder
or an open cell
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