Sand World

There is no perspective
in hell,
nothing but imploded
vast spaces of landscape
compacted back,
beige and flat
curled in on itself.

And what if Dante found
the angel
Beatrice there,
mouth full of boiling earth
instead of celestial song?
Would he know then
my sick heart?

How can I love
my wicked god
for strange fruit
when the fallen stars leave
your burning mouth
unanswered?

Melissa Ray, 1997


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