moles, voles, suffocation.

pensively sitting
three stories
below ground
in an oddly
immaculate
parking garage
unsettling
in the pristine
unstained concrete
clean white walls
and bathed in
utter silence
a naked mole rat
seeking answers
in the subterranean
pulse of the city
perfectly still
attuned to nothing
an impoverished
under allocation
in the seizing
bowels of dallas

remembering to
breathe only after
the anxiety tremors
race along these
technicolor painspurs
bathed in pure
artificial additives
the blue skies
a nuanced curse
striking a palsy of
tectonic rejections
to the moleman
lost in a labyrinth
where a quick death
is naught but dream
insatiable in his
pensive penitence
one wrong thought
could send tons of
concrete and glass
tumbling incoherently
in a vortex of sorrow

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