from Sent Forth to Die in a Happy City
The same rooms of the government house, deserted even by the birds. A plausible constraint on the action, taken down in shorthand. Accustomed to a certain category of personnel, tied up in their activities. The files are renumbered. The samples in glass jars have lost their scent.
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Keith Newton’s poems have appeared in Harvard Review, Konundrum Engine, and Typo, among other journals, and his chapbook Sent Forth to Die in a Happy City was published this year by Cannibal Books. He lives in Brooklyn, where he edits the online magazine Harp & Altar.