this neverender

There’s a saw discontinues the loved who are void I have seen it.  

I have seen it as I have seen from the mess hall 

their seventh-degree burns rise again.

As I have seen in the bagnio my consumption it rises again. 

This existence in which I blame god on the tree line through which you no longer intrude. 

This ending in which I withdraw myself from your banks but I’ve seen it. 

When I return from you like a failed occupation.

And I stalk your geese who make laughingstock of my enemies.

And into their villages. 

And the clothes I wear gasoline. 

There’s a love that persuades you I’ve seen it:

beating to death a politico

on the steps of the white house for another half century

will equal a riot 

on behalf of the strange who were loved 

who are void

but I’ve loved it. 

I have loved it as I have loved the mobs who are coming to disfigure my liberty.

Who say a stranglehold’s coming for me

that cares least for my throat. 

And this existence in which I blame money on the lowland into which you won’t cloud.    

And they tell me god’s wealth is my throat within reach but I’ve seen it. 

I have seen it as I have seen you bed down in a pauper’s grave

and the worms tell you god is sketch. 

I have seen them announce

the airstrikes are here for your mess halls

but I can’t say if I felt the compunction. 

If I did I was young.

Or if I did I was you.

And god’s wealth was my throat within reach. 

Emily Pettit is a poet, artist, editor and teacher, and the author of Goat in the Snow. She has taught and lectured at Columbia University, the University of Iowa, the University of Massachusetts, Elms College, and Smith College. Emily is an editor for Factory Hollow Press and jubilat