Purgatory is like junior high but with priorities reversed.
Whispering and passing notes and making snide asides
and daydreaming through classes and the rest of all
the faux pas for which we were cursed in middle school
are here the main event. There are no social studies,
decimals, percents. exponents; nothing will impel you to pick
up The Scarlet Pimpernel – oh no, this realm supposed
to be between Above and Hell dispels all cliché notions
of the functions of the schools whose rules we all were taught
must be obeyed. When we’re done with Purgatory, or when
Purgatory’s done with us, we will have played with nuance,
tone, relation, hint and tint, the aura of the fauna and the flora
not their biological particulars – the breath of feeling, not
the bone of argument: all this will waft through its curriculum
and where we’ll be beyond it isn’t possible to know. Although
one wonders if the secret is there’s nowhere else to go.