'Still Yet, Another Circle of Hell', by D.M. Rice
The enclosure could not contain
The three of us and I walked
With my mother and brother
In tow against the burgeoning
Blue green of the air brushed
Sky, lilting smoke receding
Where the plane crash
Refuse blocked off the way
;
There was something barren
In the chemical trail, flat
Basalt pathway clear
Of any trace of human
Life
;
Despite their wishes
I sought to go ahead
But all directions
Wrapped around
To the same dull
Creek sputtering
Translucent ichor
Against the concrete
Flat stack square
Where we stopped
To make sense
Of our directions
In vain
;
And that must have been
An illusion because
The next thing
I remember
Was striking
My brother
Against the
Floor of
That same
Enclosed
Room from
Which we
Had escaped
, Wielding a
Whip but
Making
Quicker
Work
With my
Fists to
Beat him
Into the
Hard concrete
;
There were
Windows
Which
Opened
Up to that
Same pale
Sky which
Painted the
Barren ground
We had walked
And my mother
Looked on
Without
Judgment
, Demure
Featureless
Expression
Which lingered
Long after
I had
Awoke.