all my friends
I see them all the time
flashbacks like flipbooks
some of them
are stick people
many of them dead
a name will appear out of
nowhere (or thin air)
like a rabbit out of a hat
I’m like a mad scientist
screaming Eureka
in this makeshift laboratory
what’s left loves to hold
a grudge against me
for things said or done
but especially for reasons
incomprehensible
april two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
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