Micah Ballard


Or A Moratorium

Holding on the decaying patterns
of an apparent destruction
& interrogated by night spies

from which everyone lies
my love hateful as once was kind
in this allegory is shrouded.

For was only yesternight
out of a worthless seconding
that the yearning went yonder

& see all that bitterness
has returned back here today.
But how how deduce the longing

when in the midst of a recent tempest
a vintage sadness sets out
to subjugate you. Must we willingly

sentence ourselves to the narcotic
erotic of a hanged woman
whose mouth & limbs droop

to the ground in sound
or remain resilient with reason
& condemn the ill-subliminal

the feminine you, to a benighted
eagerness which may every minute
terror lift. How then must one

describe the dismissal if not
in a delphian lament against sorrow
what now could be composed of when

but stoically submerged & complicated in
my own thinking of you, never here
somewhat always tearing through.