Poem: St. Anthony's Fire

 

St Anthony’s Fire

 

a scream cuts through the dance,

begging the centrifugal fury to stop,

bellies braided into a jerk of snakes. 

and yet the danse macabre

yanks and twinges on,

until we are all as rotten as leaves

groping each others' dogeared yelps.

 

the holy fire lifts us,

bruised, clattered, lacerated, mangled, falling 

and we shriek as one sound,

locked in the torturous rigor mortis

 of our zealous conglomerate.

 

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 anti-conformity poem, among other things, like nature's sheer cruelty