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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