Sunday, December 27, 2015

Just-Discovered Poem, Written July, 2012

I am gray now,
the storm of sex subsided. 


Earrings are at last objects of beauty
not lures. (Still, one wisely heeds the hook!)

That this dowdy decrepitude 
was once enough to send my ship to Helen's bay!

A safe harbor,
anchor set deep.

Philoctetes' stench
covered by deep blue
and Circe's perfume.

That sweet, sad song,
plunging to the depths of flesh
hiding nothing,
predicting all that would be.

Before the wasting of muscle and desire
life was full gallop -

Headstrong mare and tireless stallion.

Making terms with tedium now, 
trying to see doldrums as peace 
and sleep as anything but inability.

Where once banners flapped
and pointed passion
burst in flame
      -   just by rubbing sticks  -
now, at the end, 
The Trojan Horse 
more clever than
the whole scope of war
-- with Troy, with Helen --
and all that fury
against the slightest movement 
of the tiniest muse.

It is the end
that draws us
away from the fray. 

Reproduced now,
garden going to seed and weed.

The watch is over.

Meditation begins.

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