I know you from a foreseen road.
You would perform imperfect
love ballads as reflected from
gowns of a river swan.
Catching prey in glass spider webs,
woven from an arachnid kiln.
It was blown in the fashion
of mythology’s image, scarred by
its own accord and binding will.
Have a poem.
Eat these words which I command you
this day to teach the descendants to believe.
To believe in no one but themselves,
to surpass the serpents of sorrow,
to exceed the elephants of elation,
to merge with their elemental guardians.
Gods for sale!
Goddesses for resale!
Deities immortalized beyond the pale!
Deities become mortal only to be impaled!
Infinite structure of ink on
blank pages of vibrating sand,
kinetic particles moving and grooving
to the beat of mythopoeia’s song.
Let nature’s bygones be gone.
Let nature’s bystanders stand.
Let nature’s passersby pass.
I love you, half who I do not require.
Let us enter love-stained sheets and retire.
Give me back my poem.