No poetry after Auschwitz and Nagasaki
Conclusion escapes me
slinking away like someone who witnessed
a Mafia murder
and ending up nowhere:
the mined no-man's-land of ideas
where lights swallow the moon
like Viagra.
My shadow: a one-dimensional
even-more-substanceless me
a peninsula
not of regret
but of grief.
Freedom is meaningless
when you're dead
because you are freer
than freedom.
poem by Anthony Weir
Added by Poetry Lover
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