Frissons Of Fire (Surrealist Poem) Poem by Mihaela Pirjol

I.
The wood-resin is salivating in the flames: amber-fire before metamorphoses to embers—before it burns to ashes. Flames are insatiably embracing the logs with fire-tongues of perishing smoke: the fumes of consummation, the mastication of flames in the alien teeth of heat, tickling and teasing with heat. The wood is in a melting pleasure of self-sacrifice, in which the nails in the wood are the pillars of endurance, the pawns on the chessboard, the sheep in the herd, and the people in society in frissons of avarice, in a paradoxical self-glorification, guided by the invisible hands of madness. The flames are burning bright, spewing sparks of disgust in the process of digestive catharsis of the subliminally inoculated Matrix.

II.
The flames are burning—and burning with vivacity, in echoes of diaphragmatic screams, devouring the unctuous wood with invisible teeth, distorting its form with each bite of woody flesh, till all it remains is, —a mass of cadaverous bones of black, wrinkled embers, and coals like noir fleur de sel on the surface of a sea-lake. It is the funeral of fire this powder of death! It is the ink of cuttlefish spilled on the pages of literature, sacrificed for the Muse; it is the ancient sacrificial ritual for the imaginary Gods, the domain of the invisible spirits perceived in the goose bumps of your pores; perspiring, and palpitating: frightened of anathema—frightened of the occult; thus, pious in the idolisation of illusions.

III.
The citrus oil is cracking in its orange pill; it contributes to the
incandescence of the conflagration: a mirage of fluctuating shapes in shades of rosy-orange colours. It perfumes the fumes with a sweet intoxication, and hallucinogenic silhouettes are dancing in the elongated flames in a hypnotic game of trance: the purification of preconceived perceptions: a finale for a first; a warmth for the former cold: the bones of a former tree reduced to ashes. It must have been alive when it first started to salivate in the flames, mollified beneath the heat; spilling its last sap before the doom: —this fire was the assassination of a tree!