Wednesday, April 26, 2017

soap opera

let me tell you about the gods.
with their petty jealousies.
their sense of entitlement.
their utter disdain.

or not. so easily swayed,
and frail despite their power.
all that scheming –
the soap opera of divinity.


so you slayed the lion,
its skin now a shield.
then they kept you
outside the gates.

you entered a cave
with sword and torch.
you gathered the blood,
saved it for a rainy day.

you kept moving;
you ran for a year.
how long will a man run
to find forgiveness?

you were assigned a task,
so you met with a friend
to plan and drink wine.
then killed your friend. maybe.

you found yourself deep in shit.
you asked for a tithe,
your efforts and time.
the courts were kind.

be careful when planning to kill something.
determine to whom it is sacred.
try standing your ground and scaring it away first.
make as much noise as you can.

you wrestled it to the ground,
rendered it unconscious.
so much wasted meat.
and still rejected.

your unnatural appetites.
every breath like flame.
you fill your belly,
your kisses bridled.

you thought it was all going so well.
you fought hard and long for every attention.
she was ready to give you her belt.
i think that’s a metaphor.

how much you labour!
and that labour so often fruitless.
or tedious. you defeat your enemies.
you use so many poisoned arrows.

you have grown tired of apples.
they are arbitrary symbols.
too easily shaped to other uses.
yet you still yearn for the garden.

you knew you required more preparation;
you were not ready. death visits us all:
hierophants, initiates, contemplatives.
you hold it or it holds you.


you sought guidance
from the gods
and received a jest.

when I told you that
every labour is a gift,
you hid your face.

over and over,
it was never enough.
until it was. until you
confronted them with death.

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