by Alexander Billet
"I write you this letter to let you know this letter will never arrive"
Tried to grab what I can
through scars on top of scars.
Old stories. Lost deliveries. Bits of paper.
Crumbs of plaster.
under the empty air.
Gray skies snatch my bones,
hope they’re ground up quickly…
Mourning doesn’t do the trick anymore…
in cacophonous voices,
Touch of the face
that reminds of itself through thick concrete walls
and makes you long
…to long for…
You who told me that all wars
were now warm enough for me to heat my home,
You who told me
that there was life in a future of ghosts,
You who made me a believer
in talking corpses,
Drove me to the edge
of the ravine dared me to fly;
I will never forgive your rotten conscience.
You with your barbed wire pens of shrieking lonely,
starving for the end.