I have
nothing left of this same whatnot
recoil
madness inside how to forget
or what is
never going… what is fraught
with
impatience, or ambulance of jet
maelstrom,
majesty and forgetfulness
decided in
advance, I have nothing
but the heavy
address of loneliness
and the
exacting burden of being
upon the
shoulder of a fragment – Life
sees through
every predicament, all holes,
maybe now
peers against reflection, strife
and holy,
disenfranchises all coals
for burning
what’s not waste, but reflection
in a pond
we’ve dug ourselves, as nation.