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  Ben Passikoff
   
     
UNURNED INTEREST

The fourth Brother Karamazov became angel
chinning by twitch a hairy rope, neck growing
new inches, blue tongue a lolling dog's,
in tune with desperate nails now talons.
 
Moon wandered in old pity to this window.
A shudder of cockroaches carpeted the floor
in revel of the stench of released sweat
rivering the winter of his skin.

A wind from nowhere spins the closed
body momently inside history.  Servile
boots remember smell and dance,
then equalize with the rotated earth.

A posse of vultures hunting bone
throng past the moon in white mourning,
throat discordant song to the fourth
brother depending from old eaves.

His cold mother remembering him loud
between her idiot thighs, her head Medusa-
rich with wormsquirm whispers to her issue:
only the dark is true.

 


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