Friday, March 16, 2007

The Priest of Passion Serves the Sacrament

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What's a little sacrilege between friends? The whole juxtaposition of this work's imagery is buit on upon the statement by poet Walace Stevens that poets are the high priests of the invisible. Well, in a dark enough room, everything is invisible. And, it takes little imagination to figure what the sacraments of this priest would be.

The Priest of Passion Serves the Sacrament

break me down
take me down that shadowed path
where we once lingered,
daring fate to let us
touch
in ways shown sharing
in ways known caring
about what wordless whims
were communicated.

I can smell
your attar on my hands and clothes,
ancient faded memories
that I summon freely
heat
that feeds this fire
that feeds this desire
and when you shed your veils
I will enter the temple.

deity
and the temptress to my fall,
all I have I sacrificed
the price of your hunger
fed
to make me bleed
to take my need
and let me mark a holy scripture
in fingertips on your flesh.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

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    Explaining the Tags

    You will note, gentle reader, that all works under this blog now display "tags" to help classify and assign the works for your review and enjoyment.

    These largely fall into 4 categories:

    Year of writing, e.g. "1999"
    Book published in, e.g. "from an unexpected quarter"
    Inspiring muse, e.g. "Aubergine"
    Genre, e.g. "erotica"

    We are still in the process of cleaning up the tags, so please bear with us. Yes, some muses are classified under more than one tag, some poems appear in more than one book, or not yet in any volume, and some years are...hazy.
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