Everlasting Pieces by Dennis Villelmi

             Ian Livesey CC



​Everlasting Pieces 

Roots and bones-
The two are supposed to go into the ground for good.
Truth, right?
Me, I hate to be rooted;
It's always seemed like the slowest demise.

Water that doesn't move, it stagnates, of course.
So that furious sound of a river after heavy rain -
It's the tears of yesterday's dead gone to heaven,
Hurrying to realize what it is to be a sea.
With a short fuse burning, I'm on the long road to realize
The coast.

How did this country become a Black Dahlia?
Is it because the politics is pulling an act of Jekyll and Hyde?
State after state, whether it's at a rally, cafe, or a parking garage,
I only encounter alternate spirits.
But they won't stop me from pushing West;
I'm going where blacklisted angels are said to exist.

Back home, it was a story of a ghost playing with the radio,
And the erosion of garden.
Shit jobs;
Though I did work enough shifts to afford this
Candied pilgrimage.
All I've ever known is a rosary of broken hearts.

Saint Janis, will I see your apparition dancing along the shores
Of a zodiacal Avalon?
I'm bringing "the blood of Christ" and bourbon both.
God, don't forgive me.  Don't bother!
I pulled up roots because I miss the days when I was alive.
In this America -that's not mine-
I follow the Birkenhead highway we unwittingly built in pieces.

I'm the last page of a book my mother burned long ago.


​

Dennis Villelmi is the co-editor and interviewer for the dystopian and horror webzine The Bees Are Dead. He is also a poet of some note, having been published in such corners as Peeking Cat Poetry, DEAD SNAKES, Duane’s Poe Tree, Horror Sleaze Trash, and In Between Hangovers.  He is also the author of the chapbook, “Fretensis: In the Image of a Blind God” (currently out of print and in search of a new publishing home.)  As writing doesn’t pay the bills, Dennis works in private contract security.  He resides in the state of Virginia. 

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