No Poetry

None after Auschwitz after Bergen-Belsen

After Dachau after Treblinka after Kishniev

After Alexander III after Bogdan

Chmielnicki

After the Christ-less Crusades

No limpid pose of postlapsarian prosodies

After towering babbling tongues

After gilded bovine bestiaries

After Columbus & Las Casas at Isla Española

Couplets uncoupled in an aesthetic

Dimension of oblivion

After the naked Nakba

After open–air–aveira — Sabra and Shatila

After Gaza remains stripped

Epic concerns Rwanda? Armenia? Yemen?

Verse testimonials to:

Syrian serenadings stillborn under iron o’er

King Leopold’s Congolese ghosts?

O’nly enumerative moments

O’nly litanies entrusted

Only poetry after

Always

She is not like the poem
but the reader
of a one

the handles do smart (colli-
sion) these concussed
sway or

dart

into out (from) searing

as lines
take shape and
formed evade dissipation

open they
exude beauty or
something (more) often

She is not like the poem
but the writer
of a one

Unwise Blood

Not a one
calls me

reflecting

(of no
renown)

reflecting

who bares
sunrise;

Florida

dusky
bughouse —

— but without

Joplin’s Pearl on
East

Village leather
algebra,

its anesthetic
on shrugs

circling

and over
once again —