Surviving the mine field, navigating waste lands
of "my mans" & "moms" with little guidance other
than blind perseverance & unseen helping hands
perhaps ancestral, or gods, chance, or another
unexplainable means to still be here, alive...
Surviving the suicides, both instant triggered
as well as slow ferment of self-destructive drive.
Somehow outlasting the lottery math figured
as solid foundation for generations, plus
in-laws of diminishing returns compounding
the madness. Building bridges with hardscrabble truss
piecemealed from the rubble, all while self-doubt's sounding
fraud syndrome warnings (complete with riffs from "Freebird") -
to believe sense can be made of this mess? Absurd.
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