Blunt Force Trauma

Down here in hell,
the first plane, our eyes
open unblinkingly, but wet
with verbs subjunctive
one’s tongue suffices
for pedestrian things—
its automatic motor
mouths what yawning
eyes interpret—
but we are drawing out from
the chalk drawings of our
former species colours
when we paint our
BLUNT FORCE
T R A U M A
our superlative joys and
N A R R O W
M I S S E S
and heavenward gazing
we wait for fluency in
our native language,
for holy, unblooded
converse in the
A N G E L ‘ S
A L G E B R A
—Satan’s wit—
God hear us here in
Gehenna.

Thanks for checking out my poem.

Did I tell you I wrote a novel? You can read it here for free, or get it for your e-reader on iBooks, Amazon or Kobo. Or you can just say you read the book, and donate five bucks down below. Go on.

Gabriel Muoio

$1.00

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s