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by Cassady Cain

If anybody calls me
or comes by to see me
tell them I’m out
getting even with somebody

        Into sudden, bitter focus:
a frost-bitten street
where I’m standing
with my hands

        slipped into the deep
seams of my pockets,
taking in the special
sort of expression

        that can only be found
in the imposing,
architecture here

The lowly sun is a demon from Hell,
the cars on the street have become sudden insects
I suffer visions and many indignities
while looking for the Lobster

Cassady Cain was born and continues to live. They have been writing poetry for seven years and their work can be found in The Black Bear Review archives and Issue #8 of SIAMB.