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Monday, December 16, 2013

Holidays on Fire



(a poem ending with a line from Milton)

yet in the August sun, you desire weight, skin
for shedding, dripping in salty constellation

their swollen fetuses falling around you, the medical
names for flesh inspire necrotic scabs

turbulent angels worm into your mind
to wonder what flies are worth

each a ghost lifting the bubble of disease
around the world, how the nets are torn

not only in a chorus, but a choral echo
of buzz and hum, and on your masterful lips

a prayer, bloated, illuminates like a cautionary tale
the hailstorm is bitter, expletives drop to their knees

in a skewered communion, liturgy is red meat
lift your voice with the bench of fire-breathers and all

the candles you burn assume the shadows,
from those flames, no light, but rather darkness visible



5 comments:

  1. The ending is so powerful. And the imagery throughout is vivid and surprising. I am just enchanted by the way you concluded your thoughts here. Great writing.
    -HA

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  2. i agree with HA - the imagery is surprising and vivid..the worth of flies...the bitter hailstorm and that close... yep... the light always makes the darkness even more visible..

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  3. Those expletives must have been something indeed

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  4. Gritty and sharp imagery ~ Whole post is something else ~ And that last couplet (from Milton) is very good ~

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  5. Whew, dark and striking imagery. Masterfully created piece.

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