POEM: Post-Apocalyptic Tango

They praised the rucksack Lotharios,

glimpsing them through the mask.

It’s said you can tell a lot from the eyes.

You can if you have to.

If that’s the full display, all but for the stringy hair and knobby forearms —

when it’s the full picture — searching soul-windows becomes a superpower.


But the masked men clocked in on smuggler runs — hauling cataclysmic utopian brainstorm.

People loved it until they hated it.

Then the tunnel junkies were cut loose,

their magnetism depleted.

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