NR Digital

Poetry

by Jennifer Reeser

WHAT’S REALLY WRONG

Admit it: what disturbs you isn’t flaws
within the grand design, not that or this
ironic fealty to effect and cause
within the cosmic lottery. Dismiss
the phony, brief, and adolescent shock
at guns in terra pacis, torrential rain
leveling every last cultivated block –
phlegmatic and dispassionate. The pain
of dull prevention is your sorrow’s source.
By that which reputations circumvent
facile degeneration on its course,
along with sag and setback and descent,
observe brute effort. Read it. Read and weep.
  Admit it. Flip the page. Go back to sleep.