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for Paul DiNovo
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We are ruled by the moon.
Werewolves, schizoids, fools.
Dragging up and down
The coastline of our life.
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No drowning season, this.
Nothing so fancy.
Just another month,
Another death
Without fanfare
Flowers or even cinders,
Another eclipse in the sky
And broken toys
Lolling in the tide.
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The doll, the sword, the robot,
The spools of rope and wire,
The dead dumb crackle of
The sound and the song,
The LP, the diamond needle
Scratching, scratching,
The spinning, spinning circle.
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The moon is down
And there is no hope, love,
But also no goodbye.
The eclipse approaches,
The sky lowers, the ground
Trembles. Nothing, not even
Remember, remember
Can save us…
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Not the math of God
Or the motion of the planets
Will ease this grief, and
Sorrow will be our
Only supper, but
There is always a but,
Thank God for the but,
Even if we don’t know
Its name…
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For within this patchwork
Quilt of guilt and dead
Bent grass of our flesh,
We will always have our
Apocalypse, always, all the
Time, never young and always
Dying, always, always, always,
As the half circle of the Eclipse
Hangs over us, the horizon,
Everything, always, here,
Now.
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Draxian note: This poem originally appeared on my long ignored alternate site, FIRES OF VENUS, which I will be shutting down shortly. The poetry site was a nice idea. It had its small-numbered but enthusiastic proponents, and I thank them. But a new poem hasn’t been penned since July 09, and looking forward to the Year In Writing 2010, it doesn’t seem likely that the dearth of verse will end any time soon. So in the coming days all the original poems written for that site will be appearing here, and FIRES OF VENUS will vanish from the nighttime sky, bitchin’ banner and all. Oh well. Thank you, Brigindo and Shooting Star and Carisa, but it’s just not in the cards anymore.
A semi-note about this particular poem. There are one or two major tales to tell about it: its genesis, mostly, but also its intent and purpose. I can’t promise anything any time soon, but these thoughts will (ideally) be incorporated into a hypothetical essay I’ve been thinking of calling APOCALYPSE, MY FAVORITE FETISH. Maybe I’ll actually write it! It will almost definitely be NSFW. Oh yeah, hype!
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6 Comments
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I actually came across Fire tonight. Sorry, didn’t know it was out there.
Oh Jesus, no worries. Thanks!
I love the poem but am sorry to hear “the dearth of verse” will continue into this year. The poems are my favorite. I am looking forward to the now-promised essay and am likely to hold you to it.
Well, thanks. Got to keep that continuity going, even as our world melts before our eyes.
I apologize for my lack of support on FIRES OF VENUS. There just aren’t enough hours in the day. But I look forward to your Year in Writing 2010 with pleasure…
Aaww! Thanks!
Just want to add a general comment: while I appreciate folks expressing sympathy regarding the demise of FIRES OF VENUS, the site’s not going down because of a lack of support on the readers’ part. Hardly. The lights are going out because The Spirit has left the campsite, She is elsewhere, She’s into other shit these days. Maybe She’ll come back to this particular dusty room; who knows???