Abattoir Memoire
It wasn’t a comfortable return.Hands hooked on every hinge
To keep feet
From falling back, but fall they did,
Like motors turning,
Until limbs made it back home.
Then eyes had to adjust
For everything
Was no longer how it had seemed
In memory, where
The last sight’s crystallized
Like photographs.
That modern lie.
Now see how things really are:
The present fed
To eyes like a conveyor belt
Shoves slop into pigs
Forcefully.
Eat it. Eat it. Eat it. Eat it.
Poetry by Sameen
Written on 2026-05-26 at 16:59
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