• Vol. 05
  • Chapter 11
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Gasmask Anthem

Among the de-regulated toxic,
dog-sick, mammalian-sick
greenish-brown skies, a woman
sat in her backyard, strumming a harp,
pouring as much water and music as she could
onto her freshly-planted plethora of oxygenation
she hoped would help to combat the thick, almost-dead
yet once-verdant life sprouting from the cornucopia
of seeds which she had pressed into the soil of her backyard.