“the winter sun says fight”

By Peter Gizzi

The winter sun says fight.
The arctic blasts say fight.

This polar world is flat
even if my head
says round. Like this
meant something 
to me, like nothing.

I was more ing
these days to
every surface. So
what’s in this morning
that will solace?

Once I saw the city
of God reflected
in a freak shadow
the sun cast. I
thought life complete,
tight, happiness.

Now sun says cigarette,
and I abide. I remember
its noisy ray clanging
my room on my knees
looking for crumbs.

I remember days and
nights and days and
nights, days, nights,
high and dirty.

Now fog says coffee,
that’ll bring you back.
To where? Where
do I actually live so far
outside my head deep
inside the chemical
wash of my genes.

I am fighting for love
but I need a new god.
Left here, this one 
no longer fits. I, sick
of the reptile in me,
the dis in time,
its twigged agony.

I’ve been here before.

“the winter sun says fight” from Archeophonics © 2016 by Peter Gizzi. Published by Wesleyan University Press. Used with permission.