That black forest and the fire in earnest
leaves a trace leaves an abscess.
More & more I see the human form,
fire’s afterbirth, the long dangle of waste, pitted
mouths, volume turned off. A band of iron,
fighting for a pure country.
The corpse, the flies, the world, the fact that we were
standing by blank and amazed — you touch that unnameable
outline of buried cities.
Rocks stick out of the shore like heads.
Nobody is ever missing.
Simone Muench (1)
Simone Muench (2)
John Berryman (2)