“KM4” Poems & Drawings by Tom Sleigh and Michael Hafftka

Here the body is the sheared-off wing of the Transavia plane

lying in a scrap heap

like the knocked-off arm of an old Grecian figurine

of Winged Victory pacing down the deck of Athenian might.

Here, you can let yourself go in so many ways—

the bomb pack strapped to your waist and detonated

by pushing Send on your cell phone.

Or the eternal aesthete in his eternal pursuit

of just the right moment to see

the splintering of light passing through tent mesh

waking you to the unambivalent hate you’ve always craved.

The rivals walk off to where the broken pediments

of the cathedral still brace under the weight of the rose window.

And the body barters for the ghosts pinned down by the shadows

to come rising at this moment from the grave

telling the body it’s too late, it’s always been too late

passing over the ocean’s dry whispering wave.