Critical visions: Descent= the boat


The winding road forked into twain
As I listened in and out of the rain
On the right I see and hear Canto barking
Out from the left I see Virgil
At my ear Dante sings his quatrain

At the bay comes a dry grey mist
A stench as time itself rots
A putrid waves of brine comes up
As my nose dies from its stink
Lingering in consciousness
Canto bites me
I awoke only to hear Dante singing in and out of baritone levels

Waves upon waves
Stormy seas as I stare unto it’s hollow eyes
But the boat speeds as any automobile would in a school zone
He says unto me
“Good for you,  this ride is free, coz you have an appointment
With him”


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