Island

Shell shocked beaches

cratered, pitted peaches

an island spitting out the core

an island spitting out the corps

-wake up-

In the pock marked devil's face

-wake up-

running this futile devil's race

God is asleep, lament the men

abstemious in their dampened dens.

But I fear more that he is awake

For then this would be his, not our, mistake.

 

Reviews

[Perfume]

Beautiful.
What an incredible scene. There's a strangeness. The peaches feel like those sugary gummy ones you can by for pennies at the convenience stores. But then they turn from campy to philosophical; not peaches at all, but faith, angst, understanding. A circle, never able to make a solid conclusion.
I have to say, I've never read an ending line like that before. It sparked something within me I didn't know I could feel. A threatening question, but one that feels more like an answer.
A paradox. All of this. And it's really quiet ingenious. I can feel how intelligent you are. You have a gift. But more than that, because you've made a connection with it.
There's cruelness... but you make it so pretty.
This really is one of the best poems I've read in a very long time.