this memory hole

into you
into the darkness
into this memory hole
where is your year in review
the vestige of the atom loosed
then fretting a sense of alienation
annihilation abomination abnegation
and ferreting the soundtrack of childhood
standing waiting for the avalanche of cruelty
lost my copy of making art during fascism
my butt call to my dead father answered
my doomsday clock runs backward
i can name that tune in 2 notes
mondays are interminable
everyday is monday
the sky a hole
into me

What I’m Reading:

VI

Icicles filled the long window   
With barbaric glass.   
The shadow of the blackbird   
Crossed it, to and fro.   
The mood   
Traced in the shadow   
An indecipherable cause.   

— Wallace Stevens / “Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird”