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
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