This Union

By Samara Golabuk

In the hegemony of discontinuity,
we have laughter on the stairs
that flies up like a murder of crows
into brushed metal skies tasting nothing like
the pure rule of dog law.

In the circling year,
spiders crawl through our eyes
while our hearts sing ruddy bloody chanties
ripe with crocus and tequila rose,
a modest harmony worlds apart
from the subtraction of us from this place.

Clock in, clock out, clock in, clock out
is the circus slaughter of eagles—
a functional theory of regimes
that marches on us in the deadly faith of toy wars—
and in our ears, celebrity;
mandatory oil import quotas;
and tax deferred investment opportunities.
The old man upstairs listens close to wavelengths
like in the old days, says,
          “We almost lost Detroit.
          Sure’n yeah, that was close.”

In the hegemony of discontinuity,
that fucktional theory of regimes,
all our clouds are artificial, and
the birds—sacrificial, ornamental.

Samara is a Pushcart nominee whose work has appeared or is forthcoming in Eyedrum Periodically, Anti-Heroin Chic, Eunoia Review, Plum Tree Tavern and others. She has two children, works in marketing and design, and has returned to university to complete her BA in Poetry. More at www.samarawords.com.

Photo credit: Paul Sullivan via a Creative Commons license.