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Over The Top

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The pounding, the lashing out

like a snake’s tongue lashes out, like a snake

whose prey always ducks down

at exactly the right time.

The venom is lost

but yet is absorbed

as the caterpillar runs down

the leg of the table, and as the angels

hold someone at the moment of

their last singing, singing of the pounding,

singing of the healthy and the unhealthy deep,

singing that there is only the perfect shape or

the fall into restless sleep.

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Copyright © 2008 by Allison Grayhurst

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

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First published in “1947, a literary journal”, March 2017

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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

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“Allison Grayhurst intertwines a potent spirituality throughout her work so that each poem is not simply a statement or observation, but a revelation that demands the reader’s personal involvement. Grayhurst’s…