QED

poesy

The 10th Circle

Before the roads closed
we duct taped our eyes
praying the fetor
would be more forgiving
on our olfactory receptors
as we traveled through
spectacles of fiberglass
and ash.
Even Virgil had to take
a respite this time around
for it was all too palpable
and inhumane.
No symbiosis
only struggle beyond the tide
without any trace of salt
for rust had taken its place.
An effluvium of consternation
for the exigent realities
once buried amongst stupor
rose like the siren.

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