from “We Do the Polis”

Pent up
in a narrow

compass
and shortened

on every side
by the neigh-

borhood
of walls

These veterans
of future wars

handing out
the PTSD

brieflets
before

the mess
to come

*

Were verbing
swerved

and swayed
into sieves

maneuvering
toward

fissures
in the line

Swallowed
the scare quotes

and choked on
what hung there

in the air
around me

stripped of that
security

*

A field
of intensities

pulse through
a set

of others
coaligned

in throng
song

What poetry
is this

happening
too fast

to count
the syllables

in each throat’s
retort