Found poem from the novel “Tree of Smoke” by Denis Johnson
When I pray, I see no shadow on the wall.
God with his big white thoughts,
some idol powered by moonlight—
impressive at a glance—
tearing itself into jags and swords.
The abyss is full of reality:
psychos, beggars and urchins,
starless spirits quivering in flesh
assembled out of limbs and bones,
lacerated by pleas and outcries.
In the narrow places you climb alone.
I wanted my mother to be young again,
confident of meeting somewhere in infinity.
Who can look into another’s thoughts?
In the final stages abstractions become realities.
Small talk in the terminal ward.
I’m dangerously close to refusing forgiveness,
nauseated by the violent power of fate.
Brought down like a dragon
through darkness incredibly swiftly,
breaking into burning parts.
Al Fournier
Painting: William Blake
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