Dante Didn’t Go Far Enough

Tell it again

exactly how it’s planned

from forearm to cheek bone,

where you’ll lay down an empire of stone,

buried into skin’s fabric

where razor edges cannot grant escape

and a heavy touch comes a weighted reminder.


I watch you sink deeper in my dream hell

poking a pitchfork from floors below

to prod the anxiety to action,

prompting inaction at the doorstep,

seeing a blank parking lot

and the only path taken by its population of you and me,

as I got along a separate way

drinking in the fear of my dream hell

as a disrobed obsession rings the bell,

guiding her off on an odyssey temporary,

providing nothing to chance.


Pulling the plug out of urgency

to drain the pooling jealousy,

knowing now how it’s planned

from frozen toes to ruffled hair

where you’ll construct an empire of stone,

tucked into nooks beyond reaching,

all feeding the nervous engine to splutter

in the depths of my dream hell.


Lurking low in lost landscapes,

it’s an eternal calling card

of a sinking, sad fantasy.

( ❤ Mitch)

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