A narrative series of character sketches in verse
Seven poems by Andrew Zec
In hell it is not easy
to know the traceries, the markings
shall he convert this underbrush, how turn this unbidden place
how trace and arch again
the necessary goddess?
... ya, selva oscura, but hell now
is not exterior, is not to be got out of, is
the coat of your own self, the beasts
emblazoned on you
can endure it where it is, where the beasts are met,
where yourself is, where she
who is separate from you, is not separate, is not
goddess, is as your core is,
the making of one hell
In Cold Hell, in Thicket
Whatever intactness holds animals up
Has been carefully taken, whatÕs left are the parts.
Just look in all the cases, all counted and stacked.
That Pull from the Left