On the road with Goethe and his Erlking


there’s neither horse nor child,
just a stage set for the fear,
lightning rods– bare steel channels
flashs– the day’s imploding, it is

early morning on the highway,
pain seeps pale & perforates
the lines i walk, decoding– soon

about to crack and burst in
dizzy detonations, hardly visible
for those– around and

like a lion i protect the small &
quivering in my lap, shadows
mock, wrapping metaphors
around my chest, tight bandages

to camouflage the cold like Goethe
when he wrote the Erlking

it is dark and i’m about
to lose my path– they’re whispering
from gnarly twigs, pressing close
against me as in nights when skin
drips amber-ish & damp with want,

“there always is
some kind of death involved” you say—
even in arriving

the ever marvelous Gay Cannon has a wonderful FormForAll input over at the dVerse pub for us today… we’re thinking allegorically and metaphorically…have a look at 3pm EST..