He
from high above
sent fire on my bones, schooled me sharp and bright
spread a net underfoot, whipped me round butt-wards to frontwards
put me in my place, abandoned, all day, worked, worn, witless, winded.
Worked till the crack of dawn-- a yoke of my crimes
together twisted, turned taut, width wrought and when-- then
racked and rolled their echo ache cross skin's scapular and spine.
Shouldering, confounded and refuted-- my only virtue lingering
fatigue-- my master handed me over: never to rise, not ever able.
Killed all the stout men among us-- my master did it;
summoned against me a season to winnow
parched ossuary grit and leavings of most noble ochre.
He tread the press-- my master did--
the master of Judah's never touched daughter-- did it.
OF COURSE I am sobbing, my eyes
dripping, dropping, streaming silence--
SINCE my comforter is aloof and out of hand
reaching and wheeling my spirit round
for nothing-- my sons destroyed, BECAUSE the enemy has prevailed.
(Zion reached out her hands-- any ally absent--
as Jacob one-on-one with wonder's attention--
fending off every tete-a-tete, thrusting neighbors and
intimates incited and acidic-- stirred, roiled and Jerusalem
is done. Like that woman, spotted skirts and trickled thigh.)
I
provoked his furious command. All peoples, I wail-- listen to him.
See my despair-- my maidens and my manly men-- off, out, into.
The Lord
is just.
Lamentations 1/13>18 vlgt/bti
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