Saturday 14 March 2020

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.

Saturday 15 February 2020

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



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.