See the child, he could be you.
In a barbarous terrain stained with life.
Sparse, desolate, dead and broken.
A fistful of dust on a hot black rock.
Fear is the friend you can trust.
Dreams wasted on a better place.
The Judge wanders through this place.
He craves, and above all, craves you.
Offers you his skin for your trust.
Teaches you there is a source of all life.
A love in every branch and every rock.
Forced love, spun, thrashed, and broken.
Every hour a promise gets broken.
Two dozen ways to put shame in its place.
Evening redness climbs up the rock.
Painting its face and blinding you.
Fighting, fucking and drinking away life.
A trinity you would love to trust.
Who can you trust?
Now that your will is broken.
Crowded, surrounded by naked life.
Sweat passes for clothing in this place.
Foes and friends grope and grasp you.
Until you’re hard as a fucking rock.
Hot marrow on a fire-side rock.
Finally! A man that you can trust.
He never tempts, only feeds you.
Eat until your hunger is broken.
Listen, here, at this meeting place.
Find the source of your life.
Have the time of your life.
Dance on top of every rock.
Drift into a smoky, oil-lit place.
Smothered by the man you trust.
The circle of dancers broken.
As drunk and tired as you.
Can’t trust the place.
The life infested rock.
Are you broken?
3 comments:
Love the cynicism in the line "Fear is the friend you can trust."
"Hard as a fucking rock" may be a bit cliched, but the portrayal of "Fighting, fucking and drinking" as a form of the trinity is a rather brilliant challenge to traditional conservative ideas.
Reminds me of burning man. The intense symbolism and sexuality makes this poem very intriguing. I think I might read this book now, but if it's even stronger and darker than this sestina I don't know if I could handle it...
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