Tags
a mosquito's song of pain, Claribel Algeria, miscreant ghost, poem, Poetry, sex-mad wraith, sonnet, xenolith
Ahora/ en esta hora/ crepita
más la muerte/ que la vida.
–Claribel Algeria
Under the patio’s
intricate leaves she
strolls off, clutching
quick Faust, her
pupil, to her breasts.
Finito. The man
deceives himself that
he’s unique, that
his cleaved skull
won’t be used as
a smashing
drinking cup,
and that, “Now/ at
this hour/ death
crackles more/
than life.” If I
were a defrocked
bishop and you
sin, would you
still bite hard?
Folklore says it
just takes a soul,
a mosquito’s song
of pain, and it’s done.
But what does myth
know? eh? myth?
myth! yes? But I
have no faith, no
books, no calling.
Bite me. Hard. Blood
slows. Eyes blank.
Heart – tie me
to the xenolith,
make me strange:
miscreant ghost,
sex-mad wraith.
][][
Ahora/ en esta hora/ crepita
más la muerte/ que la vida.
–Claribel Algeria
Under the patio’s intricate leaves
she strolls off, clutching quick Faust, her pupil,
to her breasts. Finito. The man deceives
himself that he’s unique, that his cleaved skull
won’t be used as a smashing drinking cup,
and that, “Now/ at this hour/ death crackles more/
than life.” If I were a defrocked bishop
and you sin, would you still bite hard? Folklore
says it just takes a soul, a mosquito’s
song of pain, and it’s done. But what does myth
know? eh? myth? myth! yes? But I have no faith,
no books, no calling. Bite me. Hard. Blood slows.
Eyes blank. Heart – tie me to the xenolith,
make me strange: miscreant ghost, sex-mad wraith.
][][
note:
a xenolith (ancient Greek: “alien rock”) is a rock fragment which becomes trapped and swallowed within a larger rock.