Kristin Garth

littlest

littlest hearts live in littlest towns 
lopsided labia in leftover 
liminal playgrounds lunatics loll around 
in lieu of a libertine’s life, laid over 
in the land of nod without lunesta 
or knife but rife with a violence 
towards anything small. fashion a 
weapon from a corroded see-saw, glints 
in the sunlight, similar steel he once rode 
in his own lackluster park when he was
less, long ago, dark, looking to implode
in a stark public treehouse, midnight— does 
not believe anyone innocent climbs
at this time.  littlest parts are all they find. 

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