January 30th 2024
by Justin Prince

     
    Knowledge rings through the bones 
    as a war that always was, is almost here. 
    Fear smells like nothing worth scrunching 
    noses at, its scent brings me to the sunset 
    hiding behind the canyon I dangle upon, a plunge 
    into the abyss awaiting, I can almost taste home... 
    
    Why don't you raise your voice 
    and shout til your lungs have reached your ears. 
    Why don't you raise your voice and shout 
    til they say no instead of ignoring your eyes. 
    All this talk of silence not protecting, 
    I've never known swords to not protect 
    when pointed properly: sheath with consciousness, 
    nonsense isn't dying easily, nor 
    are our fortunes jailers. A fool 
    is every and plenty, don't think your own 
    sword won't do you in. Killing yourself 
    is laughably easy. Unless 
    you're actually trying, of course... 
    
    Forced to turn my head 
    and still see. How many days? 
    Time leaves without a peep but 
    the tears won't stop covering their bodies. 
    A homeless man asked me for change today, 
    but what I have isn't what he needs yet. 
    He drifts off, officers walking behind. I wondered 
    where another tenant of this station laid; every time 
    I'm at 125 st, I see him resting under 
    weathered blankets by the trash can. 
    So many wounded in action, unaware of their own service...
    
    
    
Packingtown Review – Vol. 23, Spring 2025

Justin Prince (they/she) is a writer and aspiring singer who was born and raised within the maddening streets of New York City. They’re currently pursuing a degree in English at Hunter College, and, when not fretting over coursework, usually spends their days either napping or singing love songs by their bedroom window.

  1. Christopher Brean Murray
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