At least the timing was patriotic.
Locking your skulls:
Bells broke our spirits.
You were underground:
Transit like cicadas'
Passing advertisements,
Florescent but illegible.
The men were on top of the men.
Enthusiasm waned in the second year.
But what did you expect?
It was a job.
You were required to do it.
Your hands were covered in cement, not gold.
We will never get you asleep:
Your standard bones
Plucked white for sight.
From every angle
A politician will
Make use
Of awful truths.
Francis Raven is the author of Shifting the Question More Complicated (Otoliths, 2007) and Taste: Gastronomic Poems (Blazevox, 2005) as well as a novel, Inverted Curvatures (Spuyten Duyvil, 2005). Poems of mine have been published in Bath House, Chain, Big Bridge,
Bird Dog, Mudlark, Caffeine Destiny, and Spindrift among others.