© 2011 RC deWinter ~ All Rights Reserved
Deep inside my roiling gut sits a gremlin
that will not name its name.
It laughs at me as I clutch myself,
arms wrapped tight around the fraying bandages
that splice my soul and spirit together.
If only this were a fairy tale
and Rumpelstiltskin was its name!
If only I could shit it out once and for all
and be done with this mad parasite
that sucks my strength,
infects my vision,
sours the juice from the sweetest of fruits
blights the brave green seedlings sprouting every spring.
But no –
it seems I am condemned to harbor this unwanted guest
forever and a day.
Is there no charm, no philter – no matter how bitter –
that will exorcise this monstrous chancre?
Where is the Prospero who will draw this Caliban
from deep within my desiccation
and remove it into exile?
I know, I know –
it is a thing that must be done by me alone.
No magic, no magus could pry this blackness loose.
It is my charge to find the chemistry
that will finally flush this poisonous microbe
from my vitals.
I have not found the formula with which to weave
my cloak of redemption.
I am not cured.
The gremlin laughs.
© 2011 RC deWinter
Digital oils; figure taken from an original photograph shot October 2, 2011.
Tech specs: Photoshop, Filter Forge, Arkvis