Here we are
wearing our bulbous,
placental gloves
trying to crochet
a better world.
Unable to put down the hook
at the risk of losing
validation for attempted
craftsmanship,
we do not ask ourselves
who we are trying
to keep warm.
You, like I,
are convinced that
a blind man will see
red if he tries hard enough.
If he breaks bread
with the red-seers.
If he gives them his time
(while he takes theirs),
wrapping them in texture.
When did they teach us
what we could not learn?
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