Andromeda

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I

The dragon-night, its smothering wings,

holds her fast, its tongue, embered

by the stars it eats, turns her skin

to smoldering coals, her soul to the stone

she has become.

 

II

No escape from this dark enemy,

none, nor even the light still tangled

in her hair, once a princess

now a servant to a basilisk, she

struggles to no avail.

 

III

Once upon a midnight time

Andromeda, set free, released

to wander destiny

her ashes scattered in the sky

dark star, to the naked eye.

 

The Specter of Sex Appeal 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Even in the grimace of her death

her lips, pained, entreat,

recreate forgotten mysteries

of flesh, now bone, silent

but for the magic they invoke

 

Her breasts, their curving spill,

once soft, invite to hold, to be held

as if they were filled

with the milk of still another life

created by her will

 

no hallucination

this awakening of flesh

nor apparition born in eyes,

fingertips, feel again

a living pulse, desire.

 

Bomb

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She loves it

she loves it not

she holds it close

to her breast

as if it were a man

her first and last

she feels the hardness

of its skin erect

like iron

pulsing like a ticking bomb

her arms embrace

the inevitable

knowing the end

will come

exploding in a final blast—

it only kills

the one it loves.