Rocco Parisella Poet Rhyme

BEYOND THE ID

BEYOND THE ID

The dead of night, a quiet cry
Staring out, a Stranger's eye
Waters ripple, endless rain
Curling down, black metal drains
I hear their call, the floors and walls
Their whisper's want, my ear pressed hard
The beat of blood, that pounds my heart
In mirrors mad, lights flicker on
Footsteps follow, dead end streets
Picket fences, rot like teeth
Crippled trees, windows bleak
Gravel roads, foul fields meet
Secrets hid, sin, disgrace
Shallow graves, the weeds and waste
The poisoned who, diseased and blue
Beyond the Id, their resting place

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Alison A Smith September 30, 2026 at 3:12 PM A haunting, tightly compressed psychological landscape. The irregular, accumulating rhyme and clipped image sequence create a feverish, dreamlike descent into dread, while the recurring hard consonants—black metal drains, rot like teeth, gravel roads—give the poem a stark physical texture. The final movement beyond the “Id” makes the horror feel inward as well as external: a disturbing resting place for buried guilt, trauma, and the unnamed dead. Rocco Parisella September 30, 2026 at 6:14 PM Thank you so much, Alison ... Such a nice compliment. And I will read what you have written with great anticipation. Thank you again.