October 2, 2014

between rabbit hole come-ons and an abrasive afterlife...

Illustration by Gustave Doré, from Dante’s, ‘Inferno’ 1866.

 chaque, arbre ne sait qui est Dante...
(each tree knows, who Dante is…)

mortals play with fire
to feel loss and alive
whereas divine infinities
play with anything
they can engage
one on one

be it material dimension
or where thoughts go
to be henchmen
carnival or sinister
even nicely mentioned

a reed song rut scent
interrupts my poem
whistle-kettles me
to the wind with knives

October is lying there
a bare history of Spring
and Summer turning
stories of bones
and shuddering
into paper prattles
along the concrete
and asphalt
page after page
of what once was

the trees know
express indifference
to what we may think
year after year
cycle seed to bleed

in a sentinel quiet peering
o’er the long nights
they till with fight
every womb, tomb
and between us