Monday, July 5, 2010

The Winter King: Selection 5



The wind slightly shifted from the east into
the west and caused sand to sail from the
crests of thick gray dunes. I followed
the somnambulist, until at the mouth
of a cave he rested.

The gorge was dark, impenetrable; it gaped
like the eye of a hurricane. Nevertheless, the
sleepwalking man stood in defiance, a solemn
tooth, a subtle crag.

I wondered what his business was stationed
at the mouth of a cave and why he chose
to stand there quietly undismayed by the
caves engulfing, tar pit hollow.

I discovered, too, the winds that shifted
were a suction, a current from the cave
that, like a vortex, ate the sands whilst
thin veils drifted in around his feet.

He came then, a burly dark figure
who’s stature was thick and skin even
thicker. His round portly silhouette
was a stocky shape without a neck.

Hair splayed like spine locks jutting
off his arms. Indeed, it was not human,
though extremities—hands, feet, and
genitals were as a man’s, his face was
that of a boar.

Stained ivory tusks of yellow and
jaundice protruded from his lips.
Wild hair stale and stiff patched
it’s shattered skin; it’s eyes were
fierce, anticipatory—they held
tension with a beady apprehension.

The pig-man gruffly walked
to the sleepwalker, treading
on hoofed feet. Circles in the sand,
imprints of his stand, vanished one-by-one.

--Michael Aaron Casares is the editor of Carcinogenic Poetry and owns/operates Virgogray Press, an indie press working out of Austin, TX that specializes in poetry chapbooks and anthologies. His work has appeared in several recent online and print publications. He has authored four collections of poetry with Virgogray, New Polish Beat and Shadow Archer Press. Michael also paints; his work can be seen at the Calcasieu Gallery and other venues in San Antonio, TX.

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