In the half-lit
twistings, turnings…
Stink of bull shit…
Heaven’s burnings
in the gut, the very soul…
What is this, that
you are seeking,
Hero,
here among the reeking
passages
that twist around,
and lead you into
cul-de-sacs,
hemmed in by walls
marked with the axe,
double-headed and
two-faced…?
Once upon a time you raced–
in sunlight gleaming off the sea
you sweated in your lissome grace,
by the age-twisted cypress tree,
stood tall and young and full of years
and watched the galleys tribute-full–
of youths, of maids, of parting tears
and carrying a nation’s fears–
with black sheets sail
to serve the Bull…
Turn and twist,
and shy
and hold…
hide in shadow…
leap out bold–!
sword swings…
sings out
to strike–
just air…
You hunt a thing
you know is there…
deep-descending
to its lair…
Moving canny,
grip the thread
that guides you out
if you’re not dead…
a distant hostile
rumbling
and cries of woe,
and grumbling
of monster
finding frightened meat…
The Beast would rather
waving wheat,
and basking in
the radiant heat
of white ground
tossing back the sun…
But that is not how this is done…
This labyrinth
pleases no one here,
it twists with pain,
it reeks of fear,
and no one,
so it would appear,
does what he will…
But–
there’s this Destiny
to fulfill…
No need to say, it won’t end well
LOOSELY SPEAKING... 