poem

    "The Poem That Solves Nothing Must Not Be Written"

In days to come, when you will have no choice,
remember those who did, and chose awry.

Some rivers will not bear their crossing twice
and so it was with us. In our employ

the things we made grew tyrannous; our dreams,
most tyrannous of all. Our only scripture

said: More. This passing frail and lowly creature
soon stood on fire-forged towers with brash contempt's

incendiary resistlessness. The tungsten
nights held no escape. Each new extinction

we tallied as a gain. Without compunction
we measured out the earth for arm and piston;

it was mercy that we met our nemesis.