– Myronn Hardy –


When chaos ignites after a despot
is forced red       there is a prediction
of freedom.  A false simplicity
in town squares where flags
are raised       waved fervently
by those deemed feeble.
Consider cities where flies
take to wounds.  Where wounds
are lacquered cups overflowing
with tea       bitter       scalding.
Ahmed has taken to sea cold
as color       brackish as quarry.
How stingrays swim with him       in dark
water sliced suddenly with sun.
Relief       the gun dropped
from hand       water in his hand stings.
Relieved of history       its
infinity plundered.
He is solitary in that water       at least
from those who waged with him.
That morning farmers brought
pomegranates to market.
Men with red teeth weighed fruit
in containers kilo after kilo.
Red seeds blushed skins       a task
to tear away but such taste.
The breaking in mouth       sweet bursts.
The wonder of regime       distant.
The distance of a star yet its
presence covers his face.
The blindness it creates       dazzles.
Cones fray       burst.
The fever he refuses to fight.