A Portrait of Living
Angel Rosen
A burglar steals your couch and your telephone but
it still rings. There is always a mysterious phone call,
“They are coming,” it warns.
No one ever comes! House party!
A burglar steals your couch and your telephone but
it still rings. There is always a mysterious phone call,
“They are coming,” it warns.
No one ever comes! House party!
the Elkhorn mine collapsed
after a crew drilled too deep
into the earth—discovering
water. The mine filled fast
after, carrying off its workers.
brutality. Sunless parade of the poor. So today,
I do not question the Reaper or its iron want. The metal giant
can try to save us from ourselves. I cannot see
an end without total destruction.
There is nowhere to run
except forward. Oh, to be a man
again and take up so much space.
For so long, I’ve scoured
thumbprints on maps, empty
corridors, boats in harbor, constellations
that refuse to navigate. Thick with shrapnel
and gutted like a shoe
without laces, I stumble, call for you
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