The Divine Comedy, wandering pyramid
slightly tilted towards eternity.
I hear it gliding across the sands
when the moon is out at night,
a millimeter every year, to and fro,
at its own pace.
And inside it
shut in tight as if within himself
sits the Pharao.
He’s embalmed everyone he knew
personally or from hearsay,
forcing his hand as far
as the white stones of antiquity.
So awful being surrounded
by a world of mortals!
Which is why he embalmed them,
not to dwell alone in eternity too.
He stuffed his ark full of everything
that happened on earth.
Nine skies of sin, nine of expectation,
nine of illusion,
all bursting at the seams.
And at the center,
Dante.
He watches the Inferno, Paradise, and Purgatory
and when he gets bored he swaps the signboards around.
The Paradise sign for the Inferno sign
and vice versa
and this over and over
so that the poor saps
can no longer tell where they are.
Dante holds his tongue
until the veins bulge on his forehead,
pushing, from inside, the pyramid
that moves softly across the sands,
a millimeter every year, to and fro,
at its own pace.
First published in Amsterdam Review