Familiar fades & flags apply
on this side of joy
where I dream of joy.
Just travel happy
turn eyes back
rugged far green sunlit field
turn off harsh dry
mundane conversations if
the happy space restores the senses.
It is well nigh incredible.
I’ve endured a fool world
long out
almost impossibly, sigh.
Fire? Anything except
what resembles fear—
having entered in crimson robes.
I learned the experience of life
final necessity to a strange world
praise be
or abhor as they tremble at
today.
Any purple act
that suited me once
examples of baseness
that stirs the soul-scorn
I feel in my self.
Then insolent rage
itself empties the handbag
of slur and vile white words
senseless
you hum head down.
A fickle crowd is a hostile worth
of tedium if not yield.
Tedium
transfigures.
Tedium is alive: eternal law
decreed.
Silvatore Difalco
Salvatore Difalco is a Sicilian Canadian poet and short story writer. He is the author of five small press books and has had recent appearances in Rhino Poetry, Third Wednesday and Cafe Irreal. He lives in Toronto.
OSMOSIS PRESS 