Wednesday, July 20, 2011

Cy Twombly, Animula Vagula, 1979

His soul speaks in tongues
all snakebite

A hand on the bible
one in the air,
mouth sucking in
a yellow ochre moon,
painting over the stars
with proposed holiness
that will get him locked
out of the gates.

He warbles into the night
sparks at his fingertips
body arced back
speaking with a devil’s
intention—split and bleeding
           and all the lost ones
gather round to read
the writing on his skin.
They wait quietly
for redemption.

Aleathia Drehmer 2011

Published by Riverbabble 1/11

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