The Brooklyn Rail

Take The Case

i'm tired of these vigils
these flags at half-mast

armbands follow me home
but how many deaths
how many deaths
will it take
to make
this nation
break loose

 

 

 

 

 

Let horrors

A clump of morning goes up
goes down past
a rain-slit sheet of music.

The past is still ahead.
Traces of ripped blue sky.
Ballot box, flag, shrapnel.

Let horrors & hurrahs concatenate.

 

 

 

 

 

Which In Turn

descent
and
descent
into
the
I am sorry hole
beneath
our
windows
the
midpoint
being
us
in
and
out
of
the
I am sorry hole
the
when
is
the
what

 

 

 

 

 

Realm & Umbrella

Tow the rippers to the fray.

Here's what Goya
does in the gaps-

No matter where I look
I see the gas mask.

We sit beside badges
& footprints about to break.

The angle of terror.
The dystopian novel.