A place lit by glacial dynamite
A palace built of tears.
The glass weeps rain
And the walls are full of sorrow.
A castle-derelict of undone duty
The exasperating snore of tubes
Rushing with excavated phlegm;
A mountain of green gunk
Surrounded by a moat of shame.
Shemah Israel Adonai eloheinuâ€”
Donâ€™t avail this vale without magic
Bullets; this cannonball-littered
City of fire devoured by the dust
Of its own illuminated memories.
Deleted abilities arise as ghosts
Of habitual dance, done now
With autonomic agitations.
â€œThe numbers are good.â€
But the dead donâ€™t rest
If the dead donâ€™t die.