For Alexander

Alexander,

your all is vile
even the shadow curses your name
as you siphon off the living
into an early grave

you are cruder than the oil
earth holds like ash in urn
made in a fever feeding frenzy
of tandem stomach churns

no one will write you an enneagram
to match your crooked face
they will bag you twice in caustic bleach
and burn you with the hazard waste

and
no one will mourn you

and
no one will cry

and
no one will miss you

but I


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