Sprawled on a chaise longue slumbering, waiting,
excised from routine, a notepad in his lap, fountain pen,
crows canter in the void surrounding his body
as traffic hisses a block away. Dressed in navy slacks
and a white-collared shirt, form erased, erasing—
his song kaleidoscopic, ringing, still sleeping
among marigolds—falls as the dawn adumbrates
shells of incinerated buildings, slips in his dream
beyond the gauzy white slipstream of an imagined wall.
Passing, frail with grief and inarticulate longing,
throat flush with congealed blood of ego—
while the floor disintegrates, the pocked earth leaps
from ashen clothes toward the retrospection
necessary to save the burning city—he masks his domination.
Kevin J.B. O’Connor received his MFA from Old Dominion University, and will start a PhD in English program at University of Kentucky in the fall. He has published poetry in numerous journals, including Bayou Magazine, Glassworks, Flare: The Flagler Review, Hawaii Pacific Review, and Visions International.