From "Blood Poems for the Death Penguin" by Zeylan

A revelation while lost in the desert

void. dust of an emotion.
a biting twist of true searing,
      a splendor lost within itself;
like a snake turning sharply without
      losing its own shadow
it has an agony casting an image, glass upon glass
a shimmer of substance
to glorify,
make virtue thus,
absolve.

like the rattlesnake,

      venom,
that echoes to the dead panther sun,
i must drink of the spine of the dust,
      and though lost
believe to this true shining gasp
falling to the feet of the answer
looking upward
in a spiral awe.

[IMAGE: Penguin] Previous Poem | Contents | Next Poem

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