the crickets are loud enough to drown out the
sorrow for as long as you’re able to take it
say for the length of a cigarette
each puff blind
orange and stinging
and sometimes only halfway
and the sorrow soars above the crickets
the crickets scream their foul memories
and you run inside to the constant hum and rattle
soon the crickets will lure you back out for another chance for reprieve
and again they will judge you worthless

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