Hazmat (29)
The mutinous affliction of my eyes
Has changed in ways most difficult to state
My whole response. A flock of night-heard cries
Hovers, with the threat of similar fate,
And in this fog i now can only hope
By more and further thwarts to be possessed.
Grazing the mottled pavement, shorn of scope
And clarity, i tremble at the least
Occurrence, both admiring and despising
Those who’ve coped by cleaving to the State.
At last, i swear off all despairs arising
Daily from a closing of the gate
That represents for me what struggle brings:
One lonely checker slid to the last rank kings.
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