Talking points at ground zero
trap the heat. The tyranny
knows no bounds.
Trauma of awaiting liberation
was intense. No truth was
ready to accept the bends.
I feel cheated when,
the dark gives a sermon about
the hidden dawn.
The hair burn in unmade
bed, taking a cue from
the beast, who will not sleep.
Where do the white stars
go, when the sun rises? I
will ask the crying lake.