**Nuclear anxiety, a long sentence**

Oh, if the breaking pulse of beating flame—

Its pushing, pulling crimson penetration

From caged center, flushed through narrow vein

To olive heights, now sallow and occasioned

To bear the mourning, gaunt from such a sense,

A tolling, crashing hell from night above,

Of all the work of man paid recompense

By man himself, with nothing left of love

Or hope, but deafened witness to the siren

And to her wretched call from now to then,

The days we could have tried to rein the fire in,

A timeless piping bait to dying men—

Were not the only thing I had to follow

In quiet air to try to find my way,

Perhaps I'd have a better pill to swallow

Than hoping just to live another day.