On my window I taped
the ten commandments
words modelled to a world
sunk, forgotful of its lessons,
forgotful of duty
like kindergardeners, playing
until next year
when the sun isn't blue
with ashes.
She's coughing,
she hasn't got that tan,
golden, proud, sullen.
We haven't got any light
maybe candles, oh frail
light, oh
sun, sullen, tan
we miss you
at night, at dark
At dark

Bullets at dark are so far,
songs single-file, like boys lined up
trapping air against their teeth,
like rain droplets--no, more organized;
faustian, (we made a deal with our home),
failures, faint, in our home
we are the world, in our home
Our home--where?
Not in the rain,
nor are we children in line
with purpose. The dead,
never undead,
what can we say to a grandfather
with no grandchildren, rolling
on a cinderblock, again like
a child. So primal, loss,
basic loss, like children.
"What do we say to the nice man?"
"Thank you," the world said,
"and happy new year".
I Liked it. I enjoyed your use of imagery but I think you detached it just slightly too far from the base meaning but beyond that, I thought it was really good