Just-Discovered Poem, Written July, 2012

I am gray now,

the storm of sex subsided. 

Somewhat.

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

trivial
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.