Poetry

Ari Fararooy

By

I.B. Rad

Dark Adaptation

Blinded

by their “otherness”,

we couldn’t see

any conceivable humanity

until, gradually,

our impaired vision’s aftermath

came into view:

A Boschian nightmare

with gutted hellscapes

hemorrhaging rivers

of gushing red

disgorging disjoined

heads, limbs, torsos,

and torrents of refugees

streaming toward

the borders,

while, lifted

on a pedestal of ruin,

Madonna and child

crouch, transfixed

by bursts of light

radiating

from eruptions

of shooting stars,

though none

to steer us

by.

Clouds

Cotton clouds

drifting by my window,

if only I could evaporate

into constituent molecules

and waft past

these prison bars

to coalesce

in the upper atmosphere

so that one day

I could rain

on that smug son of a bitch

who put me here!

I.B. Rad

I.B. Rad lives in New York city with Mrs Rad and their valued canine companion. He is widely published with much of his work available on the internet. His book, “Dancing at the Abyss,” was recently published by “Scars Publications.”