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In the City of Lost Perfection
Chaos ignites temperaments.
Charge out each day and plunder.
Bones be buried. Bones be broken.
Renounce blood, a larger black.
Each morning renew chaste vows,
only to be unbridled by afternoon.
A cadence of steel coffins hidden
by the king, a dispatch of flame.
Votive materials line cisterns,
a row of animal knucklebones.
The way an ox would plow a field
drunk youngsters prove their anger.
Classical etymologies persist.
The holy and literal correspond.
Settlement embraces the fortress.
The darkest place is between two epochs.
Slowly closes the original circuit.
A bright feud signals stubborn days.
Ploughshares (ed. Jean Valentine, Issue #107, Winter 2008)
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