~Quodlibet (LXXVII-LXXX)~

4/8/11 Michael Annis (Senior editor of Howling Dog Press):
“I published the entire Quodlibet in the OMEGA literary magazine online series. It is an amazing, gargantuan poem filled with some of the toughest writing you will come across. Profound, harrowing cantos of dark beauty, billowing with flames of passion, remorse, grace, despair and defiance. The howl of the WordWulf is terrifying to behold: terrifying with magnificence and truth.” http://issuu.com/howlingdogpress/docs/omega7fromhivethismind

~the fire starts somewhere deep~begins & we do not know~no no how deep it goes~father & son~women are all triangles & circles~a masque of curses~what we hear~voices fall from space~land in our throats~this howl of earth divided~the final amen of the damned~

~LXXVII. Where There’s Smoke~

~we may be six foot dead~
~looking through the window ~
~back in shades of gray~
~likely to see a bas-relief ~
~in black and white ~
~of our once and used to be~
~this voice a curtain makes~
~shadows lurk behind~
~certain silhouette mystery unfolding~
~just outside the window~
~we are those on fire~
~& damned if we don’t~
~know no & away we go~

~LXXVIII. Paddling Lament~

~she calls him on the telephone~
~l’il girl thinks she knows what she wants~
~iIt’s a far cry from the other side~
~milk and honey but the river’s wide~
~she got an oar in the water~
~a feather in her hat~
~goin’ ‘round in circles~
~he likes her like that~
~each time he handles her she is different~
~he always expects her to be the same~
~but she is an ever changing lady~
~her claws digging deeper the marrow~
~ah… sorrow is her name~

~LXXIX. Underneath the Change~

~all word makers between dirge and voice~
~their gifts of gods feet of clay~
~what is left of me deep in my pocket~
~I feel probing finger words~
~underneath the change~
~walk into a sunrise down~
~wonder why this native son sky of red~
~climbing o’er the people town ~
~whose lives and nighttime dreams have bled~
~moon gone hangin’ upside down~
~remember what the night man said~
~he said “Faces worn and foolish clown~
~a verse of curses on your head”~

~LXXX. I Violin~

~if the wood be my face~
~I would howl I would ~
~hasten myself toward glory~
~the grain of my skin~
~would tell where I’d been~
~the sweat and tears of my story~
~tie your metal strings~
~turn them tight into wings~
~cross your bow~
~give me lavender voice~
~as each note sings my bones~
~a god come to own~
~me you play me~
~a song of your choice~
~as I die, as.. I violin~



About wordwulf

wordwulf@gmail.com website: http://wordwulf.com
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