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UNDERGROUND VOICES: POETRY
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STEVE PARKER
Enragé on the guillotine, 1798 Strapped to a board his body jerked and spasmed for some moments as the last volts of rage, the final syllables of paroxysm, earthed through the extremities. His face that had fallen pale into a basket worked through varieties of wildness and cruelty witnessed by all who looked in, as though he was not yet done with us and our milky constitution; as though the febrile soul would slide out, would manifest before the assembly as a demon that grasped and crushed and devoured, and those who perceived this anguish fell back, left the square briskly, pushing out through the drunkards like swimmers frightened by a shark. In this way, oscillating with great wildness and fury and explosion, the Enragé passed, his body finally growing limp. Even his face—streaked, romantic and bloody —ceased contorting, and at the last adopted a sad aspect as of one who has looked into a savage crowd through dead eyes, and has seen such things there as have made him glad to be gone quickly from that place. Mythos (a Buddhist farce) stillness connection with night the mother collapses down the stairs lies there breathing hard wondering what next the father roams in the garden uprooting shrubs roaring finally she makes it to the phone he's throwing branches at the windows now screaming out there she gets through hears a voice name details she can't speak he's here in the door like a black wind grabs her by the legs drags her out yelling for her kids down to the river throws her in twisting sits meditating breath slowing looking at the water night, trees he's a Buddhist sitting there peaceful bald, bearded, beaming the moon shining upon him |
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© 2007 Underground Voices |
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