Bitter the ironies,
Fuel of my life,
Devourer of time,
A grave for a wife.
Seeds in an apple
Letting trolls down,
I remembered you wearing
Your basque wedding gown.
All memories sealed
In a chest they had drowned,
Deep in sharp oceans,
A long-submerged town;
You can still see some rooftops
When you dive further down;
There’s the church belfry,
Brass bells make no sound.
I cannot choose living
With this charged weighted load,
For as soon as it’s given
I must cross their toll road
To pay with the striking,
The force and the blow,
So I hope you’ll forgive me
If I remain here below.
Harm’s made in many molecular shapes,
When we were younger, we stood in its way;
Before cats could taunt, nine lives became drapes,
Rabbits’ fecundity taken away.
Orders received, burnt twice after reading,
Sweltering thoughts of factories in May;
Sweat like small bombs on bleached floors were bleeding,
Wishbones of Peace on a warm metal tray.
The harm in life is always organic,
Find antidotes in your heart’s poetry;
Hoods malfunctioned, contagions of panic,
Where organs once authored, there’s irony.
Untold men died, several years after;
Deprived of love, natural as laughter.
Irony governed me;
When I knew too late I lived,
Instead I found this.
With struggles for the best form,
Struggles bear poems
Like fruit found hanging
Could not conceive to explore
What was not before.
The messenger knocks
Three times, steps back with parcels,
Postworkers new gods.