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Walking Barefoot Through Hell – By Mark Masserant

  sometimes i see medusa wearing my face, with my dreams dangling like an ominous crown of complex and cunning serpents. the horizon, dormant and riddled with salt-sculptured icons, is emblazoned with the history of mega-apocalypse.   sometimes i see a chained prometheus, wildly waving a strangled eagle, delicately taunting the gods. his mountainside looms in the northernmost regions of my mind.   sometimes i see the ferryman, but he is a cautious one, wary of the stowaway. sneering harpies flank his approach.   sometimes i see bosch, painting infinite murals in unison with my narratives wrought with melancholy.   sometimes i see dante, and hand-in-hand i guide him, walking barefoot through hell, the devil’s winds whistling our bones.   hell is a time in a place in my mind.   yet in a suddenly shimmering distance, Jonah brushes himself off, liberated at the edge of the foul and festering… Continue reading