After John Flaxman’s Achilles mourning Patrocles, 1793

How many terrible forms
have we created lying
in the white noise spray
ocean of our duvet covers? 
How many terrible songs 
of conquest over one 
or another on another night
spent together with the
intention of killing each other? I wonder 
if soldiers become bored 
of one another on the way 
home? If Achilles took
a proxy, a pro- for the boat
ride home. Still wakes up
in the morning on his side
of the boat? 	 Watches
as the sunrise pushes itself 
across the earth? Questions
why we say ‘the sunrise’... 
never ‘a sunrise’? As in this
is the same for everyone. This must be 
the same for everyone?

Featured image currently held in the public domain via Wikimedia, with photo credit to H.-P.Haack.


In a dream, you saw a way to survive, and you were filled with joy.


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