181.
The past is always more innocent.
And so, what am I still innocent of?
Those horrors yet to come.
182.
Politics, here, does not work.
Its shape, the contour and flow
Of power dressed as people.
183.
Whose dreams am I within
If not mine. Who owns
My gait, a look, a thought.
182. 👏👏👏👏
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Ah, back when I didn’t adhere to Haiku syllable counts…. 🤦🏻♂️
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