Accommodate no man, before language is turned again
Upon itself. She carries now my children unto death:
Wading into battle unarmed, anger unrequited,
Waist-deep in expiration.
To loiter neverward lest she, untethered, split the sky
In multiples of sound, introspective uroboros;
Sometimes, swallowing them whole.
But relegated then, as we are, to shielding our eyes
And I, giddy in the sinister and hungering wake
Sunday, June 15, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: grief