Here, ripples the wind Did the song of hell pass?
The abyss-door was open
Something trampled in the
Grass!
A shape, a shape—I see,—
Vivid as the veins in me;
Evil lurks (sublimity)!...
Note: dedicated to (both): Clark A. Smith for opening the vaults of hell with poetry, and George Sterling, for decontaminating them; both whiz kid’ in their own right. Each reading one another (the old and the new), and both providing great poetry, if not phenomenal. [#1099 1/25/06]