I asked the tangle: can you spare a thread? And the tangle’s fibrous mouth formed a hole, and said: you have some nerve, some artery, some hair, some twisted DNA, and endless strands of narrative. What more do you imagine I can give you? Maybe you should talk to the untangling.
Journal - Poetry
The wrong candle
This candle must have come from petroleum, stolen black stash of Hades, not wax of Kore’s bees. A philosopher wrote that a proper tragedy must begin with an offense, an unpunished crime which informs the nostrils of Furies. Sooted wick, smoke untrimmed and teach the alarm. A little blur of heat and light hovers above the yellow glow. This candle was once plant-flesh soaked in archaic sun-gold, fallen in the layers of millennia, squeezed by earth’s press to fill the cisterns of the underworld. Some choice bits of death Hades gives back each year to nourish new life in her […]