I wrestled despair but it knew every move. The empty theater is still showing despair. Despair was the only flight that wasn’t canceled. The tags on all my shirts say Made in Despair. The forecast shows despair gaining strength. I have a periodic table of the elements of despair. Eighteen-wheelers haul despair cross-country. On the classroom whiteboard, the word despair. Despair took down the wires and left us in the dark. I filled my glass with four fingers of despair. Despair fanned the flames and dimmed the sun. In the cathedral of now the choir sings of despair. Despair is the song played on broken strings. I’m sorry that I’ve ended this poem with despair
"Z"
Matthew Murrey
Z
Do not stop. Keep moving, but not in a straight line—
that makes it easy for them to take you down. Quick right,
then left, then just when it’s hopeless, the bitter end,
sprint free and spirit away all twenty-six of the warden’s keys.
Matthew Murrey is the author of Little Joy (Cornerstone Press, 2026) and Bulletproof (Jacar Press, 2019). He has recently had poems in Whale Road Review, HAD, North American Review, Flyway, and elsewhere. He was a public school librarian for more than 20 years and lives in Urbana, IL with his partner. His website is www.matthewmurrey.net, and he can be found on Bluesky and Instagram under the handle @mytwords.
