Occupy Poetry

Wicked Dark

BY Gopi Kottoor

Wicked dark, how not wicked
you enroll me in your laid song of dust
not telling me where or when or how or why
not telling me a thing
but breaking one by one
the feathers of my wings
each wound an enchiridion,
a deepening epiphany
as you bring up the dead,
wicked dead
that are lucky and do not know it
that all light
turns haywire breathing poison.

The Zong


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