Poem from a dream of Edith Wharton, 1913, dedicated to Willa Schneberg with thanks for her series of six very helpful summer poetry workshops
What
more
coursing through this
year,
A black trump of
a
dozen worms
turning in a
trunk,
then formless, black
and
abstract like a pit:
When
I, brought
before the throng
of
demons and dwarves,
thought
to joke,
make pleasantries
out
of the ugly, grueling episodes
which,
one by one,
have blackened my
days,
now laid before me,
a
year of hideous horror
sum totaled and drawn,
as if it were an
honor,
as if I should bow low
to
demon god and unholy ghost!
And
what more to come,
What more for
me to bear with
my usual
aplomb,
as if the universe were
mocking,
I the fool here,
or
rather I playing the fool
once
more in this year zero,
black and
flat like death
with no bottom to
it.
Finger Ink by Geoffroy Dextraze, amazing artist and fellow presimulationist. Follow this link for more of his art: http://ubunoir23.deviantart.com/gallery/
