Aug 2

POETRY

A woman in a white dress with smoke around her head
Photo by cottonbro via Pexels

Queen of smoke,
heaven’s daughter,
you were never more
than Apollo’s laughter
anyway, a puff of gray,
a miasmatic haze
of burnt tobacco
silver as solder,
dangerous like motherhood.

A hole in the ground for a church,
Facilis descensus Averno,
you muttered perched
above the fuming fissure,
mouth foaming, eyes shut,
but just try hauling…

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Matthew Thiele

Matthew Thiele

Teacher. Satirist. Scholar. Published in Slackjaw, Points in Case, McSweeney’s, Ben Jonson Journal, and elsewhere. Definitely not a robot. Or an alien.