Effigies
If they’re posed as reverent, the strong lack any
strength. But in the final days, they're same as ever. There's still time left
for their hollow eyes peeking out of caves.
An eye is confused
by what it
captures.
Just short of death itself,
like eating funeral fruits.
A measure of lives,
while they pass by.
In surveying the scene,
lives repeat each other,
in bloody reenactment.
And they might pass,
like a meteor shower.
Both are much blessed,
and from terrible hands.
They have power to belay,
in their sweeping gestures.
Allowed to Follow
I am a sailor boy
who holds hands
with a china doll.
My close friends
vast in numbers,
live in big cities.
I will dream up
a correct shade
for my anguish. I may go through
a time I am calm;
I can't remember.
There might be gunshots
fired from the riverbank.
But I heard no report
in the way of sounds
Only ordinary weapons on this part of the river.
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