Treasure Island

Christine Natale

(August 9,1955 / Glen Ridge, New Jersey)

Currents of Darkness


The words slid past me into the inner sanctum
Which we all use for our maladjustment
I knew now why the famous habeas corpus
Had become so decadent
And why the painted virgins saw, but
Could not speak

The line of sleep fosters disenchantment
For all worlds of carrying suspicion.
Without our yearning for the lower regions
Our white winged hoofs would collide
With the darkness.

The melting of humours against the night
Leads forever around the banal criticism of hope.
We are going, not through the charnel
But rather, under the currents of darkness.

Freedom is thought to be behind the circumstance
Of force, and ahead of the illuminating
Gratitude of ferocity.
You know as well as I, that without the
Insipid revelations we would starve.

We run aground beyond the midst
Of foreshadowing hate
And laugh to find ourselves without
True distance or despair.
We cannot discover the turbulent heart
Until we have seen forty vulture
Canopies without wings.

Fast grows the tide - abounding current
Forthright shape of tenuous derision.
Who could have raced the stinking foam
To the dawn of brilliant intelligence?

Lethal caverns do not hide our
Fully developed morbidity.
Our responsibility lies in this -
Only to shatter all their false
Dogmatic virtues.
There is no bridge of rancour.

Submitted: Sunday, August 03, 2008
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