I Have Given Up Everything for Poetry
An iron crime goes feebly under, a lair
For the pale and doomed. Who is this
Woman, wrapped thighs rippling under
The sea? Whiteness of a distant time,
To bear the knees of silence is a knell
Over a field. Think of how she was unknown,
Think of how all the people said she
Would never be that way again, think of
How she gave up everything to follow
Virus words. To her death? Yes, to her death.
The crushed colors have fallen off the self
Like flakes of skin. Recall that one epiphany
When buildings swayed in wind and let
Him off, thudding to the gray littered street.
Recall what it meant when she said, I do,
To the thick pelt of words crawling with claws.