ACCOUNT OF MY DAYS
Sequence: 7
AGAINST REPRISALS
a well cut jacket of despair
hangs from his shoulders
I could put him in my sights
and line him up with an empty horizon
where not one light enters
it could be a habitation
or a door
that opens the inner workings
of starvation
what is repeatedly done
we call an unheard of horror
we claim our reason is overcome
in fevers and sores
my heart beats out of time
my enemy more than my lover
is mine and I am lost
in his degradation
more than a blind man
in a sea with one boat
that makes no sound
as it slips on the current
away from thrashing hands
skilled at many things
far different from this water