Volcano

Quite often unrecognized / as poetry, your scribbles / embrace the world / oblivious of the stale tenets / of prosody you must / write on, / draw from the most / ancient of wells, / draw on and on till / the water shows brown, / brown of dregs, / brown of sediment, / brown of the blood / coagulating in / the lab-bound syringes. / Continents pull up their / drawbridges, they do not / expect a ruler or even / political dignitaries to pass. / They wait for you to enter, / bare feet falling, lighter / than a yellow leaf’s falling / in the autumn breeze, / your breath faintly fluttering / like moth wings among the bloom, / you serve honey disguised / as some kind of lethal poison / its effect takes a long while / to show. Truth has a slow, / delayed reaction. It is / the distant rumble / of a fevered volcano.