on desolation row

Posted by Erik Moshe on Sunday, August 21, 2011 Under: Poetry

fortitude had it's gouges;
orifices, nicks, nook & cranny-cranberries
charred nickel black from
the iron foundry
where Dubai was laid to waste

the air of an abandoned fort
ran through these nostrils
like two vaulting typhoons
of moondirt

my retreat in the ruptured sun
infested with the claws
of shadowthorne
burnt rubber underboots sloshing
in the muck of recesse's darkest moment

I crawl through the corpse
of Ellis Island;
that assembly of tasmanian savants
and Alkatraz, where daunting features
still haunt those mausoleum walls

I wonder
if before writing
"The Count of Monte Cristo"
was a former prisoner

In : Poetry 

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