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kingdom of friends

no hope of getting between you & any end:

upright, no, unbending,

             no, can't begin to plot the give.

what even was a friend, a door, the ceiling.

i'm used to feeling vulgar;

not so your nothing in the rafters. 

you ever read kant

or feel like you ought to

and think what business have even upper primates with the law;

wonder whether anyone

was ever patterned in the crystal.

its trained self-similarity 

were to become pure reflex.

i used to think it's hateful

when i feared pure love.

anyway, it vanished

up and transported you

when i think about you—

i'm trying right now—

i got to look at

the human with no shades.

it was never above me:

it's still in the kitchen, 

     still pinching your dumplings,

it's got blood on its hands,

while mine pools inside me,

and i can't resent this;

not even you knew what you're doing til you did it.

i met the very first person to make a choice.

probably that's the same as deriving moral law.

i met the moral law four doors down,

she got back from church and was plotting some feast,

every single person to draw breath was invited,

i was setting plates & you were minding elbows.

every elbow minded i'm living your law

i'm not even crying i'm following law

who's even drawing breath now i'm following law

i met the human

she met them all


Cordelia Belton works at the corner of communist political theory and practical philosophy. she usually lives in chicago and new york, and mostly writes things besides poetry. of late, her poetry has been published in Ligeia and Word For/Word


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