Parallel 49
J. Quinn Brisben
Bodies on bodies leave marks
Engendering more bodies and
Transmitting germ and virus
Just as mountain mist
Swells the joints of the old and
Fevers the mind of the young
Into song which can be
Indelible if anyone hears it.
Once a legion of demons crossed
A line unacknowledged by them
And which conformed to nothing
Natural. An officious troop
Of self-help books and hosts
Of talk shows accompanied
The demons to the dead straight line
Where, astonished, they met
One calm ego, deemed sufficient
On its side of the line for
There was only one legion.
The ego transmitted the legion
To a dream of red horses, for
On that side of the line,
Pure products don’t go all the way crazy.
So the red horse demons gentled
And sought reassurance that
They still existed, nuzzling
And saying “We are, eh?”
