RECANTED

there are hidden letters after x, y, z

not spoken about

except in the dusty history halls in library whispers

 

forgotten in the murk of the dark ages

when children would sing-song smiling

through twenty-six friends,

always in order, always tidy

the harmony rose up through the major scale

to resolve softly on the ultimate consonant

before those toddlers’ faces turned grimace

to continue the blackly dirge

 

past that darkened horizon lay horror

for in those hidden murky corners

rising out of the frozen languages

cloaked in runic and futhark accents

in arabian maqam

and full throated chants to the old gods

scratched into burned margins of scrolls

wretched with rat feces, gypsy oils, fetid ink

are the diminished dirt tones of lost symbols

 

chanted wild o’er a fire

tattooed tongues through scarred lips

best left to the phrygian dusk

heretical language

strange figures

canted, and then recanted

About Jake Tringali:

Born in Boston. Lived up and down the East Coast, then up and down the West Coast, now back in his home city. Runs rad restaurants. Thrives in a habitat of bars, punk rock shows, and a sprinkling of burlesque performers. Since July 2014, publications include The Manhattanville Review, Oddball Magazine, Rio Grande Review, The Commonline Journal, Apeiron Review, Catch & Release, Boston Poetry Magazine, and others.