To Whom It May Concern
Dear blank space, guide me
through the exquisite horrors
unfolding before me like a bloodied rag.
Take me by the trembling hand
on this night of nights,
that I may weep as one without tears.
Help me to clasp the asp of persecution
to my shuddering breast.
Make it so I cannot hear
the screaming skulls in the shrieking pit
as I walk the path of the hurting hand.
O breaker of bones and minds,
lead me beyond the bruises and embarrassments
on this glorious and rosy-fingered dawn,
the sun rising like a wizened eye,
like a wound on the cheek of morning.