Epic of the Six Darknesses: XII

Painting by Naza


Epic of the Six Darknesses: XII

XII

What now?
What to write now?
How to write when the third darkness of verse
colors every word with its poisons,
how to know what to say
when it’s the very saying
that makes me bend in pain?
How to dream when the nightmares
gather like witches and show you every death
you can die? How to live when you're already
finished?

The third darkness of verse has inserted its
five probosci
into me
they have long tongues that reach through the bone
bore like drills
lick into the gut like music does
good, simple music
the third darkness tastes of the gutmud
and calls it all good
while I ponder the chemistry of blending

Perhaps write nothing.
Perhaps say nothing.
Perhaps be wordless.
Shut off the voices in me
turn down all the radios

And when I do nothing but breathe
I sometimes feel my blood going into my fingers
maybe that’s the third darkness withdrawing,
the tongues withdrawing from the trough in my gut
my hands feel like they’re floating
floating like small white angels
who have descended one last time
to remind me of my home.


Richard Smyth

Posted over on Anabiosis Press