W. S. Di Piero

My world, / ten years old, is no better place.

"We want savage tones, / a jaguar, howler monkeys, peacocks, / wheels of fire above"

"Who does their world and ours belong to now?"

"In the moment, we share / a desire to be released / from mineral existence"

"There you were, last year, just inside the door, / hand raised like a happy Etruscan lord / reposing on his limestone tomb."

“They can’t go home. They live nowhere / but here. I’d lock them in, if I could, / and tell them this: Don’t stop talking.”