Did I see you in a dream
or were you there—or were you,
as I’ve sensed before, a kind of
statement against dreams themselves
because they are syndromes of
peculiar states of soul, and you
are soul itself, matter’s magic centre—
and how you drifted, and how our
insides weltered as an eye as
black as ebony examined them—
but it was judgement we wilted under,
some altogether abstract weight that
made us fear our hearts; and we were
in the presence of a hostile and mystic
juju, not one presence merely, a medley
of conspiring souls peddling
empty horror and remorse—
how black the shadows that
must precede you! We sensed finally
that air was something synodic, much
murkier than we see with eyes; it is
marrow to some moving bone, and you,
black blood cell—order abates you,
faith resists you, dreams deprive you,
Christ compels you.

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


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