← v18n2, Fall 2019Poetry · Volume 18, Number 2
Zero, 2018
Keep saying what you saw and before you are sore
I will sing, and before I am parched, another.
Sing cero, cero, cero.
the way it grew crowded
and transformed from cement floors
and crinkled, silver blankets
into many, distant rooms.
Cero for the mourning O of outrage,
for the empty shell drawn first to signify an accounted nothingness,
for the meaningless words and hurried signatures
on bright white pages.
