dull and void (2022) by Junjor death itself is no enigma bonded to its sickle like anemic cells death is a farmer farmers farm as all farmers do eagle eye on plumpest fruits cleft from trees, and homes, and ground by lonesome blade without a sound death is an ancient tome republished daily in new editions enveloping every barren shelf uninterested in bespoke pleas i’ve come to terms my earthly mark stands three feet five on dampened soil perhaps enough for just a century ‘fore the seasons change enough cleansing with each passing wind of love of blood till it’s no more than stone death is a terribly mundane process paperwork for miles and decades filed in rows of mild transgressions each a step not taken day not seized bone unbroken chair still seated worn path walked again and again and again till even steps surrender i have hopes, and dreams, and faults but what i’ll be is not the same i would rather death come now than let today steal more tomorrows the darling hum of life well known welcome respite for weary faces but whats the use of hearth and home when it cleaves you from life itself?