Wednesday, 28 April 2021

at the beating of our capitulation

 at the beating of our capitulation 


turning for help we found 

the poem was merely a mirror

no more than no more

so we smashed it

licked at the silver sinews 

and spoke in bloody tongues

corked in the swallowing

bloodshot eyes staring retort 

we throttled their fisted throats

stamped the impression that we had won

but the words reassembled 

mercurially re-globulating 

the poem shivered at its newness

its fragility burnishing its finality 

how the insane laughed and laughed 

at this

at the beating of our capitulation 

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