Finding Herbert

1 November 2018

They circled Powązki more than once,
stymied and frustrated on the brick perimeter,
finally rolling over uneven paving stones
to practice parallel parking like
everyone else

*

Red wall. Neglected entrance. A beautiful truce
between gray and green

*

D. O. M. Luckily they ran into an aide-de-necropolis
carrying a watering can, eyes like bright corners
of a wet sky. He had the secret number
and an imperfect map

*

She handled the device, fed it the correct data,
translated the voice: Seek ZH in Section 14,
near the catacombs

*

Along the semi-rectilinear paths,
she picked Polish celebrities
like asphodels

*

He (Niemiec/Numbnuts) spotted only Wieniawski
and Chopin’s Family

*

And suddenly, one stone stepping out of the mosaic: there he was.
There he wasn’t. He was with the others and alone. More black
than gray, but still shining. A universal cross. A sub-INRI.
A fairly horizontal slab for rolling ordinary bones.
Not yet. Not yet. And no one said it.
She’s still combing her hair.

This entry was posted in 88: TRANSQUEER and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Related Posts:

  • No Related Posts Found

Comments are closed.

Please read Cordite's comments policy before joining the discussion.