I see you

I see you

in how the light on the end of the wing

becomes the moon for the night.

I see you in how the pillow rests beside my seat.

I see you flash

by curtains between the cabin ends

as the woman beside me

rests her head

on her man.

The clicks of tray tables are cold

and seatbelt signs

are idiotic.

I miss you.

I taste your tongue

in the more unique hallucinations

of sleeplessness.

I feel it all

in the jolts of the plane,

and know the reach of the grief of our parting

in quiet moments

when all the lights

are out.

This man

This man that’s doomed to life in a cell

was just 13

when he killed.

Is that fair?

I don’t know,

but there’ve been men

who killed in bulk

whom History lauds.

There are those who are killed by the State

for killing others,

and those who are killed by the State

for being Jews,

but there’s no justice.

You, too, perpetrate.

You break others

in ways unique to you,

and, sure, they break you too,

but there’s no justice.

We are brutes.

We slay the flies

that torture lions

that torture prey,

for nature, too, is barbarous,

and nature is us,

and we are nature,

and the Word is with God,

and the Word is God,

but there’s no justice

anywhere.

Shame

Can you write the poem for me?

I just can’t do it now.

I’ve exhausted all the pride I had.

I’ve shot that holy cow.

Can you write the poem for me?

Can you tell me what it means?

Your love was where the poem was,

in sacrificial need.

Sometimes I would trace the lines

but never did it well.

Now that I can see what’s what,

my pencil’s gone to hell.

Can you write the poem for me?

Can you show me one exists?

All I’ve left are empty sheets

and useless, rotting wrists.

Can you write the poem for me?

Can you tell about my shame?

There never was a poem, hey,

beyond what we can name.

There never was a poem.

There never was a me

beyond the shame that cuts and slashes

now that I am free.