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“The Basilisk” by Rick Mullin

By Luke Stromberg • May 15, 2020 • E-Verse Universe

Whoever fights monsters should see to it
that in the process he does not become a monster.
~Nietzsche

My ink-stained fingers comb the globe today
massaging polished hemispheres that spin
their secondary colors into gray.
A contrast to the molten stuff within,
the fluid orange coals that roll and smoke.
I scotch the earth, unraveling the milky
track of family stars that know too much.
My remnant galaxy becomes a silky
veil of black that shivers at a touch.
Don’t touch it please. Its horrors are bespoke.
But, oh, my ink. My ink-stained fingers comb
the globe, erasing compass lines and blurring
monster warnings. Never reaching home,
I harbor in my parlor where the whirring
continents and oceans go for broke.

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Rick Mullin’s poetry has appeared in various journals and anthologies, including The Dark Horse, American Arts Quarterly, The New Criterion, Measure, and Rabbit Ears: TV Poems. His books include Soutine (Dos Madres Press, 2012), Transom (Dos Madres, 2014), and his most recent collection, Lullaby & Wheel (Kelsay Books, 2019).

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    About the Author

    Luke Stromberg

    Luke Stromberg is the Associate Poetry Editor of E-Verse. His work has appeared in The Philadelphia Inquirer, The New Criterion, The Hopkins Review, Think Journal, and several other venues.

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