A Corridor in the Asylum by Sam Rasnake
Walls are closing in,
quick-funnel
to stillness,
and the figure,
rejected priest of a man
who’s left his god
in a room
he’s long since forgotten,
opens each door,
pale light leaking
over his face in hosannas
no god could bear
to hear, but
there’s nothing
anxious in his body,
browned numb
with acceptance,
with the walking,
nothing glutted,
no want – only paint,
a tremor
over dried brush hairs
to awkward silence
–
Sam Rasnake’s works have appeared in journals such as Poets and Artists (Oranges & Sardines), MiPOesias, BOXCAR Poetry Review, Literal Latté, Pebble Lake Review, The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature, Portland Review, Ecotone: Reimagining Place, and Snow Monkey, as well as in the Best of the Web 2009 anthology (Dzanc Books), and has work forthcoming in The Smoking Poet, Naugatuck River Review, and the Deep River Apartments anthology (The Private Press). The author of one chapbook, Religions of the Blood (Pudding House), and one collection, Necessary Motions (Sow’s Ear Press), he edits Blue Fifth Review, an online poetry journal (http://www.angelfire.com/zine/bluefifth/index.html).
© 2010, Metazen. All rights reserved.
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The music of this piece stays with me, settling into the most enduring aspects of my thoughts, memories, and brain functions…..
this struck me at the core. resolute and determined. a grand piece of prose.
Sam, There’s so much to like in this piece. It certainly resonates with me. “…who’s left his god in a room” and “browned numb with acceptance”: awesome as always.
for some reason this marvelous poem made me think of gulliver in the asylum after his return from his travels where he’d seen things his peers would not want to hear. so well done, sam. that scarce serenity.
Browned numb
with acceptance
with the walking … Just wonderful!
Like a tranquil reverie….
Sam – missed this one first time around, to me this sums up the experience of creating:
“no want – only paint,
a tremor
over dried brush hairs”
I love form of the terse lines befitting the subject matter “nothing glutted”