This is a time we’d like to forget
a virulent inflection that pains and yet
cannot last unless we let it,
This is the way it flows, a liquid
breaching of the brain, merest trickle
at first, until a torrent looks to save us,
This is what we learned, what we surmised:
not alone the languished fabrics, but the
dyed, the raw sensation washed and wise,
This is a siren sent to persuade us,
this over-promised (ever promising)
and under-delivered indignation.
Click here to read Bruce Robinson on the writing of this poem:
Image: ” Nipah virus particle “ by NIH Image Gallery, licensed under CC 2.0
Bruce Robinson’s recent work appears or is forthcoming in Maintenant, Main Street Rag, Evening Street Review, Seventh Quarry, Rattle, and Poets Reading the News. He appreciates the good offices of Atlantic Center for the Arts, the Key West Literary Workshops, and the Brooklyn and Albany, NY public libraries.
Latest posts by Bruce Robinson (see all)
- Anthropomobscene - January 10, 2021
- A Declaration: Forbidding Mourning - June 24, 2019