When CAS, made his decent, (Paid his toll, before he left— Earth's crust) Proud he was when he appeared At dock #666 Hell's Northern Pier.

There stood Satan himself— Opening the gates, "Drop the oars,” He said, formal and brief: "You are Amongst friends, the Dead, who Never die, nor ever sleep…!” And His ten-wings snapped insanely.

There was the Henchman, Agaliarept Ruler of an army in Hell; he leaped to His feet, held out his hand—saw the Scorn on his face, said: "Welcome, you are home my friend!”

His eyes—vile, a hoary-red; he Stepped up onto the dock, over the Ash-dark canopy (called a sky) Saw Satan taking off his ten-winged Ring, said: with a whisper to CAS: "Wake thy eyes, and make me a poem that will never die…!”

#1122 1/29/06

Note: Clark A. Smith, was of the old stock, yet he rose above his day, and went from Imagery poetry, such as George Sterling used, who was Smith's teacher, and that of R

obinson Jeffers, and Lovecraft, along with Baudelaire, to cosmic and fantasy. He perhaps went as deep, if not deeper than Poe. From symbolism to modernism; he did adjust to the times, but he also would not leave what was considered leaving the demonic roots of imaginative freedom Pure Poetry allowed.

I am sure if I had asked Mr. Smith, had the chance to edit this poem, he would perhaps have himself sitting down with Robert Howard, Lovecraft, and Satan himself, at a dinner table talking about verse, meter and other elements of poetry. And would tell me: I'm too soft with the imagery.

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