Don Giovanni In Hell
i have been summoned
by what i could be,
a sweet torment
jutting on an apex.
and so i climb,
tangoing with a skirt
of weeds—cholla, nettle
and sage—thirsty lovers
part Fury and Norn,
flexing as if their thighs
were rungs.
i climb naked,
flecked by bits of wasps, parched cocoons,
and tattered nests.
sandstone crumbles
when i twist to scratch,
like a bitter sphinx.
somehow i’ll outlast
all these femme fatales.
the thrill comes from almost failing—
and when i reach the top
lava explodes.
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This poem was originally published in the Monongahela Review in 2010. I am republishing poems and adding new ones all the time to this blog, consolidating my work. If a poem is republished, there's a brief statement, like this one, beneath it. Otherwise, it is new.
A 'new' poem, however, probably means I wrote it off an old draft. I have thousands of drafts from the past, some far distant, which I resurrect and work with, like armatures. Some very few poems I wrote from scratch recently. An example is "broken on the floor."
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