In the Shadow of the Castle Walls, Wherever Those Walls Were
inevitably there are   two of me 
                                            and they take different roads     to the bone
stones            are a religion            a condition
                                            of a childhood                spent in contrition
there’s a rock being pulled across a tomb            and
                       a rock            being brought towards the womb and            a rock
that once sat              on her third finger               secret queendoms—
                       a woman            used to live here
she pushed her lover off the parapet
If Saving Us Meant Parting Ways with Mercy
                     you—
                                                 you
                                                                 would           have to
                                                                                                         amputate
                    the part of you                   not yet
                                                                             chalice                       filigreed in muck
            pick a villain and                           make of them
                                                                                                         dark lord
                                        bad guy factory                    sip of
                                                                                                ratafia              you—
                      watching smoke
                                                         fudge the horizon    cities we never
                                                                                                                         tasted 
                all of us                     heat-feast
                                                                                 prairie bleeding      an empire 
                                 baked
                                                                atlantis the sequel                  and you
         you—
                                            you                          would have to       
                                                                                                             whisper reasons               
              over your             
                                     deathly tools                 the only clean things left                          
and choose one
-
Jeremiah Moriarty is a writer from Minnesota. His poems and stories have appeared in The Rumpus, No Tokens, Catapult, Breakwater Review, Glass: A Journal of Poetry, and elsewhere. He tweets @horse_updates.
