Shards

         I considered the being whom I had cast among mankind and endowed with the will and power
         to effect purposes of horror, such as the deed which he had now done, nearly in the light of my
         own vampire, my own spirit let loose from the grave and forced to destroy all that was dear to me.

Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, Frankenstein

I.

There was no beginning, shall be no end, only 

A blast, like punctuation, always two.  One, and 

The other that follows, an echo that maims those 

Come to help, a killing shadow, day time dark.  Then 

Twisted burnt-out girders, smoldering fuel where once 

Towering layers of lives.  Earth’s maws swallow deep, 

Gape wide where once we touched, ceaseless, connected, each 

To each, others near or far, living electric 

Bonds between us all, now silent under concrete 

Clouds of choking soot and dust.  Consumptive smoke and 

Ash rise in radiant morning light.  Ream upon 

Ream of paper drift, settle slowly into new 

Order, rubble and wreckage.  So little remains.  

Nothing belongs there.  That is what there is.  That is 

What is there.  Fear and hunger.  Luscious craving for 

Conflict.  Barbarous nations of evil.  Empires 

Of doom.  Thousand year reigns.  Death’s kin run for office, 

Walls creep over bloody land, holy but for that.  

Remains plucked from pyre, street and tree, shot live on 

Video.  All those girls walking home from school, in 

Bed at home at night, their names, baby’s breath, pressed flat 

Against the present.  Empty shoes line steps where death’s 

Weight, concrete collapse, smothers breath, just before dawn.  

Where imagination penetrates but briefly, 

The almost living spill out, amid debris, probe

Among the dead in delicate demolition

Suffering’s core.  Earth ruins us as sun’s shadow, 

At the eleventh hour’s end on the eleventh

Day, sweeps its surface.  The corona burning at

Millions of degrees, warns, don’t look directly, but 

Beckons.  The totality lasted two and a 

Half minutes in Ramnicu-Valcea, amid 

The fitful hazy pop and cap of gunfire rage. 

II.  

Some indulge, some resist, some ignore, some engage.

Some welcome, some avoid, but nothing so clear as 

They the familiar come, intimate, dear, and speak 

Our language, have keys to the door.  They unravel 

Us, turn gold to lead.  Some then turn beast, shed civil 

Skein, expose blood, teeth, bone, each against each, the far 

Away unknown who bear our might in place of those 

We cannot find.  For our will others must die, we 

Who matter most of all, vengeance where sorrow once 

Was.  Where blood is, there blood shall be—this is how we 

Answer the dead, their questions with our desires.  

We collude to wreck ourselves.  Mourn, count, but not all 

Gives light.  For the living numbers matter, revenge 

Dead know not.  Horror replies to horror, and who 

Shall speak in darkness?  Will those who cry loudest say
For all?  Do those mourn least who none lost?  Did one day 

Make such difference?  Against blood’s trade build again.

III.

Fear.

Afraid.

Fear, afraid.

Afraid, fear.

Fear, fear, afraid.

Afraid, fear, fear.

Fear, afraid, fear.

Afraid, fear, fear, afraid.

Fear, afraid, afraid, fear. 

Our fear, afraid, afraid, our fear.

Afraid, our fear, our fear, afraid. 

Afraid, our fear, our fear, afraid. 

Our fear, afraid, afraid, our fear.

Fear, afraid, afraid, fear.  

Afraid, fear, fear, afraid.

Fear, afraid, fear.

Afraid, fear, fear.

Fear, fear, afraid.

Afraid, fear.

Fear, afraid.

Afraid.

Fear.

IV.  

There is only one way.  This is the only way.  

It is done this way only, only this way.  One 

Way only there is.  Every morning pass in one 

Path, and leave again the same.  Some times are worse than 

Others, mostly afternoons.  There are many who 

Leave at the same time, this one particular hour.  

Many others pass by on a path connected 

To our path in and out.  There are difficulties.  

Accidents happen, flags are everywhere.  They take 

Them down but seldom  Many are still left from last 

Time.  There are less, then more, almost always new ones, 

Hardly ever a moment without.  Magnets, and

Bumper stickers, too, you can put on your car, though

Not as much choice as you’d expect.  Everything’s fine, 

Though, just go to work.  Just assume like nothing’s wrong.  

You’ll get a nice car, place to live, someone to share 

It with (substitutions are possible).  Money,

Drugs, booze, movies, music, all the shit you could ask 

For, ever.  So just ignore it.  Life would be more 

Difficult if you don’t.  Besides, you’d be on the 

Wrong side.  You don’t want that.  We love winners, if it’s

Us, especially.  You’ll have plenty to spend, a 

Satisfying feeling these days.  You can drive a 

Few blocks for iced coffee in plastic cups to throw 

Away, after using once.  There’ll be gadgets, lots, 

Pads and pods for the kids, all at no extra charge, 

Though you’re certainly willing to pay extra.  There’s 

Leisure time, credit, television, cable if 

You want it.  You deserve what you have, want what you 

Want, work hard for it.  From the living stolen breath 

Of infants a new commodity shall be born.

V.  

Wakes he bright with singing birds, shining sun, azure 

Sky.  Stirs a breeze at window, curtains sheer and white.  

Up he rises, puts on pants, shirt, shoes, belt, and checks 

The mirror.  As he moves toward the door sliver 

Catches in his mind: “I dreamt . . .”  Off he breaks, unsure, 

Interest not at all, except later splinters 

Happen still.  He briefly holds and weighs them, turns back 

To what he’s doing, then, but there, pointed, jagged,

Three and more, from top of head to base of spine, legs 

To bony fingers, slivers more, another through 

The tongue, until he knew the dream: all would be the 

Same, or nothing, ever.  The phone, incessant, rings.