The Year of the Hero

And the ancient cities are built upon our room,
Like a circumnavigation of history, we turned
Around too soon. Don’t have any pity for
What lights we signed our names after in
The Eastern sky, our stars are falling and
The sun is a star according to its scientific
Naming. So let us sit here, beneath the
Luminous moon doing crossword puzzles
And sending out cards that say “Get Well
Soon” to all the sick patients locked up
In beds, inside hospital rooms.

And we drank our best champagne that
Filled our hearts with the laughter of bubbles,
And we set our sights on the dark wardrobes
That people get when they work too hard,
The trans-substantiation of horror into God.

Remember your angel city
Where you walked with roses,
Remember the pocket full of pity
That you dumped into the road,
Like a circle named karma
The angelic stays with you.

Ancient glimmers of archaic moon,
Roughed by meteors with scorched
Sand dunes, cratered children wander
Through our room and the spirits of
Women kiss us soon, like somnambulism,
Sleep is the city’s doom.