the sun is sparkling, the rain rumbling, and we badly need some poetry...

Thursday, 18 October 2012

John Swain - 1 Poem

A Fire Wheel

The mountain held
a basking serpent
like a fire wheel,
I placed a coin
on its rough tongue.
The nights gained
a poison momentum
from the shift
in visions relating.
And when I sat bewildered
in the last shatter
by the divinity of my enemy,
I drank wine
from the sieve
of his bitter open arms.
Then we became kin
to curse and sadden
her third person,
the methods unlearnt
to read omens,
so I could find worth
and we could go on.

Biography: John Swain lives in Louisville, Kentucky. Crisis Chronicles Press published his most recent chapbook, White Vases.