A pitiless, cruel, and inhuman tarp was strewn
Upon the lifeless body. The blood coalescing on
The sidewalk – a ghastly wraith that burned into
The brain; passersby recoiling in horror, the inanimate
Hand, the sliver of white coat, fires in the valley
Where no daisies grow. A monstrous visage had
Seized upon the innocent, the maws of Moloch
Engorging on the plains. Whereon the god of time
Unwound upon the sun, revealing an ashen-faced
Resident standing at the edge of the roof of her
Teaching hospital. Central Park unfolded majestically,
Its splendor a timeless tale unwept, while in her soul
There was a broken hourglass. And a kaleidoscope
Of time unfolded in the sallows: She had just turned
Five, and was laughing on a swing, with the kingdom
And the birds, duly soaring ever – then tumbling to the
Ground; the kindly doctor, the cast, the lollipop. “If only
I could be like that man at the hospital, and bring solace
To those in pain,” she mused. Only to find herself twenty
Years later writing prescriptions for opioids; each one a
Loaded gun, each order a betrayal pregnant with death.
How many had she eviscerated? The unmourned caskets
Abandoned in the rain, the bride-to-be, the high school
Wrestler. Her sadistic attending: “Your job is not to question
But obey. If you’re going to cry like a baby, perhaps you
Would be more suited to cleaning bathrooms with the
Mexicans.” Her favorite professor was writing on the
Blackboard “First, do no harm;” the words now a dagger
Of remorse and shame. She had profaned the holy citadel,
And crossed beyond the unseen shadow; and never could
Her cowardice and perfidy be wiped clean, the stain indelible,
The sin a song of doom ineradicable. And the raven’s eye
Bore down upon the vanquished, the demons of the air
Were goading, the night enshrouding; until a zone was
Shattered beyond all depths of primordial dream, a maniacal
Scream once more to the gentle, the darkness imminent;
A sky was falling, a world imploding, a mind unraveling, a
Mother howling – thrice beyond the angels and the crying
Of the lambs – a star faintly flickering, its light guiding the
Wanderer for one last time, and all that remained was silence.