Constantine Mountrakis

I cannot give them flesh,
As Death’s wind erodes
my brittle geography,
fattens sails
and removes the shore.

I cannot give them flesh,
But if I ever do so,
I would not know what to ask them,
Or why.
Only eschatology
 and the biomes of deserts
Come readily to mind.

I cannot give them flesh,
So they are ground
to mud and mortar,
A polity of cast-aways,
Charting the currents of dead oceans,
Cast away and ever farther,
On unseen byways
 Tread once by them and
The kraken and leviathan that be here.

On their apposition of bones and brine,
I have built my home.

©2012 This work is the property of the author.


Posted on October 2, 2012, in Constantine Mountrakis, POETRY and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink. 2 Comments.

  1. This poem of Constantine’s hit me at the right moment. I was having a moment of wretched self-pity parading as pain and this poem made me feel connected to this feeling via the ages. And I felt not so alone.

    Read A LETTER OF TRANSIENCE, I by clicking the link:

  2. A breath taking poem of Constantine moved me as life was within death and in a Greek viewpoint of death in life in a wisdom oral literature of the ancients, the bards of those
    pagan and church fathers in the deserts of time immemorial as Constantine uncovers
    and discovers a melancholic sophia in his archeological dig at mirthful language.

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