Friday, April 10, 2009

NaPo 09 ~ Saturday


"How did you torment him?" I demand.
His face is huge: an icewall chin calving
berg-hair; each cheek a flat tundra,
fellfield pockets grey in the chill -
his eyecaves could house nations.

And as he smiles, I follow his mechanics -
oil and shape, twist and form, evolve
a frosted fret of recollections tight
across his blue lip. "You should ask
the one who supplied my design, perhaps?"

He talks in gusts of air released
from glaciers - a slow whisper of gas
recalling the histories of the world.
"I charted the story of his message
and watched him scream, scream, scream!"

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