I can't sleep
The noise reminds me constellations are fingers
poking holes in starless eyes adandoned near the borderland,
the road where suuicides are buried,
where dakness has no name.
He was born to Maia. She's both nymph
and night. His father is Zeus, the rapist.
Hermes has no place.
That tablet of stone is a hoax.
Science and alchemy,
the flight into the arms of Hades
welcome flickering shades of ambiguity.
It all depends if I dance with bare
feet till I'm dizzy, sleek with sweat dripping
down the back of my legs.
The truth is, I
wear high-heeled black leather boots with mini
skirts in summer.
The days are clearer than stolen music
stuffed in someone else's suitcase.
This is not an omen.
Why are you such a liar?
I've seen the eagle circling the sky. It watches
the woman bathing in the river.
Her name is Aphrodite.
She's all alone.
Her sandal disapears without a trace. If
she searches for it, she'll lose
the feather on that godless traill to Hermes.
I'll lend her my boots.
Share on Facebook
Tweet about this Piece
Poor Mojo's Tip Jar: