who was murdered by ICE. (8th January 2026)

my mind has become a catalogue of scars.
the never and the always again,
the blood stain on a soft toy that can be seen
by satellite eyes, the cradle buried six feet under foot,
the lover who holds onto a desaturated life,
breath stuttering like a film projector into white fog
gasps, the neck embraced by bullet-riddled tarmac,
so that it’s impossible to tell where one begins and the
other ends, the censored, blacked-out, unconscious 
knowing that it’s all bound together, like an ouroboros 
consuming itself, the statue stone hearts and the 
articles that blur into shrike screams and 
stilted condolences, the children tossed like 
pebbles on a beach that lost its name, the girl alone
in a car, watching the turret of a tank reduce
the air to daggers and glass.
there is no poetry left 
in these words.