what shall we call the wall we erect to defend ourselves?
& how high shall it be?
under whose phallus shall the wall fall?
whose shame will this wall carry when ten times, ten & forty seven souls can no longer be appeased by thoughts sent between a collective blaming & reflex prayers?
“walls of phalluses can no longer protect us/erections are exercises in futility”, I hear you say Japuonj but, Ok ang’eyo.
i like to think of myself as a stubborn non-human organism experiencing existential nightmares as though i were human. after numerous almost-failed attempts at long-form, i now call myself a poet (which i use as an excuse to be cynical about life).