12-11-2014, 09:54 AM
You asked "where would you guys end up?". My response to Dante's Inferno - (this was published in Danse Macabre XLVIII and in my book After the Danse)
A poet’s hell
It’s Friday night, I’ve had a hit
I scored from some back alley beasts;
their stuff was bad, it’s blocked my fit
but I shot half it up at least
and started tripping ‘til I fell
before three nuns with poet priest
who said he’d lead me straight to hell
and save my life if I believed,
abandoning all hope as well.
I don’t know if I was relieved
to see the banners blank, the worms
were not for me. Then we deceived
the ferryman, and reached the firm
ground on the other side. The arc
of pagans there, in writhe and squirm
left us alone, and in the dark
around us lust arose in storm
so I relived that lusty spark
it made me gluttonous for more
until I struggled deep in mud
and mud rained down, and shit galore
in such a great prodigal flood
it turned to rocks; solidified
it made me angry, drawing blood
that swamped me in a river tide.
I struggled hard for refuge gates
the poet still was by my side
a ring of heretics, where fate
showed me myself in ugly guise -
this freaks me out, I start to hate
seeing myself without disguise
to hide behind. He leads me on
with roughness, under bloody skies.
I hit back, friendliness withdrawn -
I want to kill him, then myself
and curse the God who brought this dawn
I’d like to punch that cosmic elf
right on the chin and cheer his cries
and leave him bleeding on the shelf
of outgrown needs, then set up shop
right on the temple steps, and lend
solutions to the ones who stop
and charge them more than they can spend
to find the whores to feed their greed
to whip them ‘til they comprehend
we’re in this shit together, feet
on fire, hung above the bowl
head down like sheaves of drying wheat
whose dropping grains strange omens tell
to me, my head turned to my rear
until I buy my way out, howl
at pitch of fork, then aim to please
the very demons who attack.
I dance in circles, leaden feet
then steal a fork and bite them back.
It’s fitting I am now a snake
as Eden’s glory I attack
and spread the tale Eve’s on the take.
As tumors on me gape and close
I know it’s God who gave me Aids
while all the world around me froze.
We drop down through a giant well
onto a lake of ice and snow
where I betray my kin, and tell
my country to get lost, I’m beat
and all my guests can rot in hell
I make the poet kiss my feet
my ass as well. The triple head
gnawing on corpses has it sweet.
It seems he doesn’t want me yet.
I need another hit. I itch
and shiver, shaking, scratch, forget
all but the need. The faithless bitch
euphoria has left me here
on Sunday morning, in a ditch
sober and sore, with no one near
to hear these words;
The poet’s queer.
A poet’s hell
It’s Friday night, I’ve had a hit
I scored from some back alley beasts;
their stuff was bad, it’s blocked my fit
but I shot half it up at least
and started tripping ‘til I fell
before three nuns with poet priest
who said he’d lead me straight to hell
and save my life if I believed,
abandoning all hope as well.
I don’t know if I was relieved
to see the banners blank, the worms
were not for me. Then we deceived
the ferryman, and reached the firm
ground on the other side. The arc
of pagans there, in writhe and squirm
left us alone, and in the dark
around us lust arose in storm
so I relived that lusty spark
it made me gluttonous for more
until I struggled deep in mud
and mud rained down, and shit galore
in such a great prodigal flood
it turned to rocks; solidified
it made me angry, drawing blood
that swamped me in a river tide.
I struggled hard for refuge gates
the poet still was by my side
a ring of heretics, where fate
showed me myself in ugly guise -
this freaks me out, I start to hate
seeing myself without disguise
to hide behind. He leads me on
with roughness, under bloody skies.
I hit back, friendliness withdrawn -
I want to kill him, then myself
and curse the God who brought this dawn
I’d like to punch that cosmic elf
right on the chin and cheer his cries
and leave him bleeding on the shelf
of outgrown needs, then set up shop
right on the temple steps, and lend
solutions to the ones who stop
and charge them more than they can spend
to find the whores to feed their greed
to whip them ‘til they comprehend
we’re in this shit together, feet
on fire, hung above the bowl
head down like sheaves of drying wheat
whose dropping grains strange omens tell
to me, my head turned to my rear
until I buy my way out, howl
at pitch of fork, then aim to please
the very demons who attack.
I dance in circles, leaden feet
then steal a fork and bite them back.
It’s fitting I am now a snake
as Eden’s glory I attack
and spread the tale Eve’s on the take.
As tumors on me gape and close
I know it’s God who gave me Aids
while all the world around me froze.
We drop down through a giant well
onto a lake of ice and snow
where I betray my kin, and tell
my country to get lost, I’m beat
and all my guests can rot in hell
I make the poet kiss my feet
my ass as well. The triple head
gnawing on corpses has it sweet.
It seems he doesn’t want me yet.
I need another hit. I itch
and shiver, shaking, scratch, forget
all but the need. The faithless bitch
euphoria has left me here
on Sunday morning, in a ditch
sober and sore, with no one near
to hear these words;
The poet’s queer.