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•   A BIANNUAL LITERARY MAGAZINE BROUGHT TO YOU BY DESI WRITERS' LOUNGE   •

Volume 11


Prequel - January 2013


Verse

William D. Jackson III

Written by
William D. Jackson III

I was born and raised in Los Angeles, CA. I've given readings at events around Los Angeles County at places like The Goethe Institut, Chung King Rd in Chinatown, and Lawrence Asher Gallery. As of now I have been published online and been accepted for an anthology. I enjoy cold sake and long walks on the fire.

        
      
       
            
              

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The Summit


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The black cloud from the volcano hung in

the air like a storm. We stared at its image -

the face of a raging demon, mouth gaping screaming

some earth shattering heresy.

A sidewalk caked in the ashes of a problem had

a name written in it that no one wanted to say.

Snakes covered the earth like grooves in

the sierra sand.

My left hand opened and I beheld a diamond,

black and transparent; my right a ball of flame.

I was still standing on the mountain.

Behind me the sky grew suspicious.

Herbs plotted against me as a standard procedure,

not because I had done anything.

Then I saw a man, a man with skin pale as crying snow,

and it was blemished, impure, cut with the stain of

former holiness; and his eyes looked at me, black like

the window to a Great White Shark, teeth like onyx;

and he saw me from worlds away, staring at me from an incalculable

distance; and he wanted to kill me,

for he knew I was him.

 

 

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