Part 1:

The Hot Poet

He died in a burning library
a censor to a suicide, the pen's ink
boiling in the bottle, the hot stylus
digging into the wax of his wrists.

His last words were scribbled down
by seared hands, two fingers stained
by the melt of tortoise shell flicking V's
towards the approaching flick of death.

As the shows only character
he spoke half-baked dialogue
a loud poet asking for silence
remembered for his firey gob.

John G.Hall(C)2005






Part 2 :

The Fireman finds the poet

I lifted him from the ashes
letters fell from his mouth
poached eyes glazed by fire
cinder curls falling to earth,

the dagger of a pen encased
in his tightly written fingers
pockets stuffed with papyrus
soaked in the fuel of dreams,

I sifted through his effects
springs from Greek machines
ends jammed into beginnings
elliptic pullies on plain strings,

inside the lining of his breast
I found a flower & a wolf's claw
under his nails I found gold dust
& in his mouth a tongue of smoke.

John G.Hall(C)2005