Thursday, October 17, 2013

Dennis Villelmi- A Poem

"Soft Faith"

It struck me funny that I should dream of Kalashnikov's 
Rifle, the very night I pulled from basement obscurity
My late mother's Olivetti Lettera.  A student's dream was
In that Olivetti; the written pursuit of revolution she believed
Handed to her by some sky and concrete deity with a gift for
Worlds and obscenities made holy.  Her soft faith as she 
Called it, having read Burroughs as a prophet.
Yes, the obscure god-the hidden Public Worker-could
Craft worlds, but only those, from Moses to Burroughs, by 
Words turned such worlds.
The ribbon was still in there; still virginal, as my mother was 
Up until she authored me.  
Later she told me how that "soft faith" died when out I came.
She never wrote again. 
It was after the cancer had called on her that I moved back into 
The home we'd shared, mother and son, until I myself left for
College.  How still now was our house, and indeed the world 
Without, so it seemed.  Was it because I'd come back an 
Unbeliever?  Perhaps as an act of repentance, I put a blank page
Into the antique machine to see if I could draw out mother's dream. 
Not thinking I began typing, typing, typing; oh what an exodus
Of words!  I realized I was keeping Andre Breton's commandment
To run down from the room and into the crowd with guns going 
Boom!  Boom!  Boom!  
It was a true revolution.  "Fight!" cried my fingers across the keys.
The night gave way to day, hen day to night, then...Stop.
So this is what it feels like to be God, the oldest dream of humanity.
Soft was my old bed when I lay down.  Sleep brought me to the 
Brush of the sub-Sahara, and thence to the dunes of Yemen and the 
Bruised street corners of post-Soviet Georgia, etc. Everywhere where 
Could be heard the faithful typing on Mikhail's rifle.    

Dennis Villelmi is a writer from southwest Virginia. In addition to Dead Snakes,
his poems have been featured on Dagda Publishing's website, and in Dagda's 
recently released anthology, "Threads."

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