Junkie. A poem by Maria S. Picone

We are always on the edge, a slow poison shot up
whiting out our timetables             desperate for our free checks
in our long solstice, shadowed holiday
shuttering all productivity
edge of poison could shoot through the air
hide on our feet:
global trauma, solidarity sympathy squabbling sabotaging
Hindsight is, 20.              20. 
Bio & Link
As a freelancer, Maria S. Picone has been dealing with cat meetings, un/muted mics, and self-scheduling for longer than most. She is a writer and artist. You can find out more on mariaspicone.com.

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