Pent up in a narrow compass and shortened on every side by the neigh- borhood of walls These veterans of future wars handing out the PTSD brieflets before the mess to come * Were verbing swerved and swayed into sieves maneuvering toward fissures in the line Swallowed the scare quotes and choked on what hung there in the air around me stripped of that security * A field of intensities pulse through a set of others coaligned in throng song What poetry is this happening too fast to count the syllables in each throat’s retort Copyright © 2014 by David Buuck. Used with permission of the author. |
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