Asides to Walt
Whitman, where Brooklyn Ferry
Intersects the
Seventh Circle of Dante's Hell
East of the moon dawn's fuse ignites
across blue
steel cumulus
& higher still
a
war plane's glint
its contrail
connecting coasts
towards Gaza towards Aleppo
in
the Syrian camps
the stink of babies three days
dead
in Sudan the boy
staring
back at the camera
his belly
like a poisoned pup's
& refugees & terror cells & the thrump
thrump
of
Apache rotors
at
each blade tip the dust-devil vortex
& shares shifting
for dollars
in Brooklyn the sex-slave crèche
the
AmEx card
its golden encompassing fire
across the Sea of Tranquillity a shadow
ghost footprints
a bardic technology
remaindered
out of mind
& we here at war's end
&
where the war begins
the moon now a
watermark fading
before the starry mass
its fired
hydrogen winds our skulls
alight with our shame
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