Muscadine Lines: A Southern Journal

Hurled Headlong

Peter Nezafati


A withered leaf never trembled this much

A slither of moonbeam never danced this light

The black night could never veil this delight

The hissing peal of a marooned crawler can’t coil this flight

The splashed droplets of a million dreamers laments could never spoil this sight


Once I traversed through this mountain of canine regrets

hurdled over goblins of slinging threats

uncaged the madman from the skeletal breast

folded the seven seas into the pocket of my vest

unfeathered the raven’s ghostly address

kissed the lips of God underneath a canopy of gilded elms

Once I bathed in the gulf of disentangled mind screeches

ensnared every fruit of sweet, everlasting reproof

dipped my tongue in a stew of madness

engraved my knees in the sodded Earth

laughed at death’s serpentine pursuit

Only then were these wings unfolded...

___

Peter Nezafati is a former ballerina, recovering from repressed desires to mate with a couch. Much of the eighties was spent trying to relieve himself of this infirmity, with the application of electric shock treatment, pharmacology, and the application of tweezers on various sexual organs. While walking home one night from an Argentinian bathhouse, he was struck in the head by an avocado. From that point on he was consumed by writing. His poetry speaks from the gall bladder, is brutish at times, but almost always is never romantic, and at best can be described as wholly selfish and savagely prosaic. He has released three volumes of poetry based on his experiences locked in a pork bellies factory basement for three months, with nothing but a box of matches, a red handkerchief, a Head and Shoulders shampoo bottle, and a rabid pit bull. Its sales eclipsed any poet of his era in such renowned poetic communities as Albania, Guam, and Goober, Idaho. In this collection one will find peace of mind, a rash, and a decline of faith in humanity.

© Peter Nezafati

Muscadine Lines: A Southern Journal ISSN 1554-8449, Copyright © 2004-2008