Lament

Abba—Abba, what was it?

Our community abed hell and swift to death.

I cried, Abba. I cried.

A poodle’s on acid, amid the apartments.

The ante’s paid.

And key to bolt, a safe has fallen.

Cain is running; the lights are out; and

Christ is weeping.

Someone pause the sirens,

the children are screaming.

I’m mad for it; with every right; dry and

wet with deserts. So tell a priest,

read a quote, and hail for souls.

It’s damp in this cave—a Ghost and I.

I’m fading with Enoch,

gripping a talisman.

Die and die not—a favorite cup:

filled with trauma,

rising through our ghettos. 

Abba—Abba, what was it?

Our community abed hell and swift to death.

I cried, Abba. I cried.