The Dissident
I ripped the spots with fur, from sure to sure
as shit, so now my urban manners shine
like spit. They hanged the alphabet for lying in letters on the regent's desk. 'No cure
for it,' the brochure said about the ease
of dying. Little did we know, the seas
were crying; trying to convey the shore
apart from images of war. The store
of monumental waste is precious, more
like the experienced flower's core that drips
with separation. Duty's tyranny is, bit by bit, the bark that scrapes the sky.
But shifting ignorance, in an eclipse
or not, is just our way, as luminous
our king's infanticidal humor was.
Jake Sheff
Jake Sheff is a major and pediatrician in the US Air
Force, married with a daughter and three pets. Currently home is the Mojave
Desert. Poems of Jake’s are in Marathon Literary Review, Jet Fuel Review, The
Cossack Review and elsewhere. His chapbook is “Looting Versailles” (Alabaster
Leaves Publishing). He considers life an impossible sit-up, but
plausible.
Tags:
Poetry