POETRY:  The Enormous Corridor of Sorrow

THE ENORMOUS CORRIDOR OF SORROW

In the enormous corridor of sorrow

masked Napoleonic pygmies play with human
souls in the

shapes of coke bottles and guided missiles

and the clatter they raise

is more deafening than silence but

leads to the same end the same bolted door

A gigantic wheel rolls down

sorrow’s enormous corridor aclattering

as if to challenge with grief its mere

invention as the era of slaughter

though it doesn’t matter

I can’t find my eyes among the rubble

A tsunami traded for the killer instinct in

the heart of man might set out a tea set

in the enormous tidal wave enough to

engender a pretense at civility though

no one finds himself more content

than the self-justified mass murderer

at home with his happy shadows


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