← v18n2, Fall 2019
Poetry · 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.