Thursday, August 4, 2016

Reading De Profundis in this Election Cycle


Tight in my chest,
dramatic gothic expectant.
Expectorant.
Let foul humors flee me
in phlegm, spilt blood, and tears.
Green light and Golden afternoons
too often not often enough.
Free. Calm. Casual.
And other dance partners I shall never know.

Known and ignored.
Espousing wreckage,
wanton malignant cysts
of insidious intent
hide reason from action,
language from noise.

The deaf congratulate one another on their hearing.
What will become of this?
They won’t even have to hear it.
They’ve no cause.
And I fear them.

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