It’s Hallowe’en and I am off to a poetry open mike, so I’ve been rummaging through my files to find something horrible to read. Or perhaps I mean something terrific.
As I’ve said before, most of my poems tend to take a lighter look at things, so there aren’t that many ghouls and ghosts, no zombies or witches.
There are a few undead relationships, of course. I’ve had a few lapses with ellipses: as the twitter feed @FIL0S0FIA posted this week: Mi peor error fue poner puntos suspensivos donde iba un punto final. But those are personal horrors, and probably best kept to myself.
As I’ve been looking through old poems, I remembered a translation I did years ago about the Spanish city of Valencia for a tourist company who wanted everything described in clichéd superlatives. Somewhere along the way, the Llotja de la Seda – the grandiose Gothic Silk Exchange – and the fish market got mixed up in my mind.
I suppose one day I might write the whole poem, but for the moment this is all there is:
Gothic fish market
Unlidded Innsmouth eyes
stare at blades that cut
but draw no blood. Pallid flesh
lies cold on marble slabs
seeps from scaling skin.