on the mend
I’ve been told to part
piece by piece, to divorce myself dose by dose from you — but the ever-dwindling remnants make a mockery of what was & the snide snickering bombards the bulwarks of my mind.
— the jeers and jubilation
will sunder the city walls
in seven days.
today is number six.
but you are no prophet
and I am no harlot
and this not Jericho
so no — no, my enemy,
you do not terrify!
what parting of the red sea?
what victories in the east?
who is this moses?
I know no og.
I am a polack, perhaps,
a kraut, a yankee,
an american,
but am I an amorite?
forgive me the flax fields lie fallow,
crimson cord is too costly
and besides
the kings’ men are on their way
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