Pestilential Dance

Cooing with lantern in fist--interstices of darkness.

Some rat's skitter midway to hole holds hearing.

Gates of Horn, miles...pikes busy with sermon,

housing names by the telephone-book-full.

No undertaker I, a mere vagrant, throat's lump

cementing, switchblade stomach.

Racked with sublimation, I began a pestilential

dance--lantern hurling violently.

Moon's bulging eye presses up--discorporate,

turned inward, stone-cold, white.

A curious thing I, at all angles--lantern's amber

orb...moth as flame--interminable moment 

excorsing yet another day...between you and I.

Konstantinos Mark