Last War

Entangled roots
And barren tongues
A ground with bounds
Buried in soot
Corpses unsung
Gaspings of young
As grudge is crowned
Failings compound
The selves construed
Get gutted good

Buried by the Shed

Beyond the shed and past the troughs, I shed  
dry tears synonymous with voiceless coughs—  
the music of the operating room,
where maggots swelter, born buried in work.
  
The past exhales as though a sour simoom
that scatters scabs of unrequited love
that choke as ashes clog the live windpipe,
or fast monsoon that floods the living-parched. 

Bury the Ruby

Ruby array of  dry dismembered bones,   
rounding a pair of sodden coral boots;
her frame concealed by cherries hanging low,
that's what she drew—the artist saw it so.
What the artist saw now hangs on the wall.
She stands beside it, perfect—Such a doll! 
Bodiless feet been buried deep below.