Heroes of Labor

o hypoteneuse of the hot tears to come
the pleasure boat is at anchor
an inked-in rhythm is metered by the oracle

the terror of a small moment
in the dark landscape that runs off
lies unforgotten at the table where silence reigns

the lamp throbs above the headlines
your little song stutters intent
the human eye on the scene pays an advance on remorse

remote as a voice giving unasked-for advice

James Brook | Mudlark No. 18
Tune of Wreckage | Some Assembly Required