Persenche Poem by Sebastian Priotese

You sleep with eyes wide open
like the saints mutilated by brushes
on the walls of the nave.
She dances in the light bulb
like a ballerina made from an
electrical arch and you study
her until your retinas become rings
of pure fire.
Insomnia's a hellfire of hyacinths
at the bottom of the puddle
on whose brim this Nemesis of
fire and smoke and caustic love
keeps you with your head bowed down
so you'd be shattered by the reflection
of your own pining-maimed moan.