Worse than Whomptyjawed

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem 

We try to place a tulip vase to block

A voodoo mask.  The mask leers through, increased

In size, distorted.  Like a tomahawk

The threat swells up inside the brain, or like a beast

Called up by witches in their Sabbath song.

There’s no escaping evil in the mind.

It’s there.  It’s like a devil with a prong

In some medieval painting, demon spined

With thermonuclear devices.  Prayers

Belong to paper napkin dimensions,

Confusing as those M.C. Escher stairs

That loop without escape, Hell’s ascensions.

  Your therapist acts like a little chit

    Of paper that your illness will outwit.

~ Phillip Whidden

by phillipw | Mar 10, 2025 | ME, OR, TH | 0 comments