When the Poet May Not Dream

(Inspired by poets in oppressed nations)

Perched upon fretted, steel-beamed towers,

the carrion birds wait.

Their long, misshapen shadows seep

from the tower heights,

a creeping dark which tells the hours

of the city where breath alone

may be excuse enough

to die

Slow, in measured meter

the people move

through air so siphoned dry

that

to breathe at all

is pain

Here, in this violated cityscape

where wolf and hawk ceaselessly roam,

the poet may not dream of lyric pastorales,

But only strive to unspeak

the sorcerer’s spell

when with his heart blade

knife, the poet pens

the truth