i do not often come to these corners

i don’t often come to these corners where in shadows the past lies memories taken from the shelves dust them off, each one a different root with connections to the same tree never a residing within what if nor some vision of a just resignation labyrinths of now-faded possibilities replacing them to the shelf, silent detritus i have always been able to walk away the part of me i keep hidden in the depths of Dante’s delusions of hell swept all the muses into a corner took them out and murdered them all one by one, choking the breath from me leaving only emptiness within a katabasis, the defeat was inevitable Summer is now fading and the seasons provide the only shelter from the hecatomb that mirrors tu quoque where the bleeding Parthian shots live under the watchful eyes of Cerberus hearing your voice as i walk from the shadows the philogyny survives, but you are cursed it is the only root to survive her major was the Greeks, never asked why her poetry, the dilettante in romantics walked away from hepcats and Greek gods what is the difference i ask sub rosa remorse is a cheap mask romantic poets are known for their infidelity and carefully crafted gods pretty words that flow as lava a detrition that wears the skin vulnerable exposes the heart to cruelty never asked why or believed love is blind rather dumb and deaf Greek gods are the trash of failed imaginations you should feel at home with mythomaniacs i prefer a different reality and Valhalla i have no thin wall between love and hate i constructed another Great Wall of China an impenetrable bitterness FF/97