By Heidenstam’s Square

Eleven pm in gloomy green lamp light
 
in the labyrinth of mahogny and birch
 
a stone’s throw from the poet’s square
 
where the exegetes of past reside in dust and heresy
 
a squeaky staircase leads to a study loft
 
where we underline our Luther with sleet and frozen soil
 
as feverish as the dreams of the student Raskolnikov
 
like red foxes that circle their prey
 
as the wolf hour arrives 
 
while outside is winter sleep
 
and vague stars shining like live fire from roaring Tamil tigers
 
but inside our camp is warm and damp
 
a fluorescent light hums like the whispers of overdosed friends
 
as my eyes resign over the catechism
 
and descends the steeple roof
 
like the raven off the ark
 
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