Yes, I’ve been told about the sea
kept behind two closed doors.
About the mirror, how our breathing
is now monitored
by regime. At times
no one believes me. At times
my mind petals against the better part
Then rusts. I don’t flinch
for anything and refuse to go quietly.
No further questions,
they told me.
It’s merely customary to fight
in order to stay
locked inside of a flaming city.
Be taught the work and do the work
Guaranteed to break hands. Here,
I’ve heard what it means to love
is chained like a dog
and killing is the new human
In the sewn-up pockets
of the living, little grim apologies
are carried like stones
I’m so sorry that you need me.