Ode to the: Lurking Ripples

Dennis L. Siluk

Here, ripples the wind        Did the song of hell pass?
The abyss-door was open
       Something trampled in the
A shape, a shape—I see,—
       Vivid as the veins in me;
Evil lurks (sublimity)!...

Note: dedicated to (both): Clark A. Smith for opening the vaults of hell with poetry, and George Sterling, for decontaminating them; both whiz kid’ in their own right. Each reading one another (the old and the new), and both providing great poetry, if not phenomenal. [#1099 1/25/06]

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