Paul Nemser
Doom Sonnet

As doubt annihilates the last of you,
I still hunt for your tongue, your clucking tune.
Has it jiggled off a junked assembly line,
chirping its chopped hosannas in the blue
forgetfulness, which breathing earth called bliss
or bliss called earth? Earth dies in every hour.
Will tubes regrow an Eve from lumpy air?
What well can cool each core and wet each kiss?
It never hurts to kiss. I push redial.
The subways go so deep and clack so far,
they’re made to transport every waiting soul,
but the train flies by your station. Are you there?
Dogs run at dummies playing crash-the-wall.
A robot seals a scream into an ear.


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