Stephen Crane Personified
/Stephen Crane Personified
In the desert
Too hot to breathe,
The air condensed into flame.
Traitor sun hangs overhead,
My own personal sword of Damocles.
I saw a creature, naked, bestial
Like a mirage phantom,
Creeping out of the dunes,
Heatwaves like a wreath,
Crowning deformed head.
Who, squatting upon the ground
Like a lunatic hunched over,
As if sun were it's food,
And sand it's sweet water.
Indifferent to the dunes.
Held his heart in his hands,
A grisly comfort to madness,
Trophy of the breast.
Cupped in large fingers,
Crimson pattering down.
And ate of it.
His lips tinted ruddy,
Sun glinting off the bloody chin,
Flecks of gore caught in teeth.
Abomination profound, and curiosity.
I said, “Is it good, friend?”
Staring at the beast as it feasted,
His overlarge eyes lunging,
Fastening like spears,
Upon my frail form.
“It is bitter – bitter”, he answered,
Power of speech overwhelming,
That voice like razors.
Filled with longing,
Hopeless in anticipation.
“But I like it
The gravel flowed onward,
From gnashing teeth.
Impossible claims of pleasure,
From such terrible mutilation.
Because it is bitter,
As if this was a renewal,
A sacred fusion of meat to meat.
Bitterness being a virtue,
Perhaps a vintage.
And because it is my heart.”
Full circle love for devouring,
His own tenderness consumed.
Bending to his labors,
I marvel at the miracle.
I back away and stagger on.
--With Admiration to the poem In The Desert by Stephen Crane--
