Double Sorrow

by | April 29, 2017

Look, our careless sleep has laid the world

to siege. Morning thrusts its tattered sails


like white surrenders into this, our dream,

our winter palace, while spores of mustard gas


steal homeward from the breach so we might

taste our cruelty with those towns strung out


all night beneath our windowsill to starve,

their ribcage pipelines, streets for spines,


church-domes knuckling up against the sky.

For now, I’ll run my palm along the snarl that


wreaths your dreaming smile like an ablution.

Look: these eyes have not been driven blind


from weeks of hunger, and will not accuse you.


Illustration: Alex Matraxia