Darkness…barely registered.
Holding the six-shooter in my hands.
The blood, like holy water on my face.
What an unconventional baptism…
Hold your breath and count to ten.
They’re all dead or dying now.
All must meet their tragic end…
Be mindful of the corpse in the corner,
I used to love him.
Now his beautiful body lay twisted like lace,
Among the once white gossamer curtains he clung to.
He didn’t even get to hear his own scream.
So perfect and melodious.
Take the picture before the death settles on his skin.
I want to remember this moment forever.
I must remember why Hell is calling my name.
Now that I pace through the valley,
It’s a never-ending, treacherous walk.
The sun, smoldering like hot coals upon my back.
My head tipped high and lashing with defiant eyes.
I spit in the face of the Devil,
Claiming me for the sins I committed.
But yet, in the distance…
It’s inconceivable.
I see a beautiful body, burning.
And the Devil has let me go.
I’ve been redeemed.
A trade…
And still in the distance…
A silent scream tears through the air.
Agonizing…
Defeated…
Suffering…
All in the form of a beautiful body,
Robin Ouzman Hislop's poetry is certainly in dialogue with some of the key architects of the 'poetics of indeterminacy' – both the Modernist strands represented by the likes of Beckett and Stein, and the postmodernist strands represented, initially,
Selected poems from previous & forthcoming collections together with Q&R apps on each page to enable audio rendition simultaneously with the written text
M.Rose