Truth #1
"Some things are just impossible -- most things,"
she said. The afternoon grew gray with fear
and dismal blew the wind; imaginings
of cruelly silent van-winged birds and leer-
ing taloned dwarfs swarmed spastic down my days;
dark dread fell dizzy from the fading stars,
fell sickly churning in primeval haze
before a dank abysmal cave of scars:
in rheumy gloom an antique hag spilled bones
of dice -- stark weird of dead men's dreaming springs;
dull sodden eyes scanned past of unborn moans;
blood screamed for light, but gealed by mucous wings
could hear in time's ice-womb, bone-reft of sight,
her howling laughter rape the shrieking night.
from Sonnets From The Surd
"Some things are just impossible -- most things,"
she said. The afternoon grew gray with fear
and dismal blew the wind; imaginings
of cruelly silent van-winged birds and leer-
ing taloned dwarfs swarmed spastic down my days;
dark dread fell dizzy from the fading stars,
fell sickly churning in primeval haze
before a dank abysmal cave of scars:
in rheumy gloom an antique hag spilled bones
of dice -- stark weird of dead men's dreaming springs;
dull sodden eyes scanned past of unborn moans;
blood screamed for light, but gealed by mucous wings
could hear in time's ice-womb, bone-reft of sight,
her howling laughter rape the shrieking night.
from Sonnets From The Surd
Hamish MacAoidh was (and is) a professor of mine, whom I studied under in college, and now again in the hard glare of the everyday.
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