near the end of the hunger strike
a victim of someone else’s selective memory
the sting wears away like a pinprick
left looking off into space
unable to wrap your head around anything
a hunger strike breaks out & rattles the world
prisoners locked inside dulls minds
their souls fluctuating
between today & a defective yesterday
true gut feelings at times underestimated
picking up on impossible scents
tightening when afraid
looking to escape into the next open field
november two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
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