World Cup Found Poetry: “Oxygen” (Brazil/Chile)

On my own, I feel alone and afraid.
Tigerishly biting into
the nerves.
There will be an amnesty;
that spying was going on
over the self-destruct button.
Like the engines misfiring
to oxygen in daily requirements
imprinted on the soul.
The very definition of optimism:
Hard labor, this
lucky general, generally.

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