Poem: St. Anthony's Fire

 

St Anthony’s Fire

 

a shriek cuts through the dance,

begging the purpureal fury to stop,

so many bellies and hungers

braided into a jerk of snakes. 

and yet the danse macabre

yanks, twitches and twinges on;

 for we are all of us rotten as fallen leaves 

groping each others' dogeared yelps.

 

when the holy fire lifts us,

bruised, tattered, lacerated, mangled and staggering,

we shriek once more as one,

locked in the pretzeled rigor mortis

 of our zealous crush.

 

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4/26 ... 

3/8/26

11/15/25 mods

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