V: A Goddess Named

Her wings were said to rival Eros’

And by her powers

–be they mortal and immortal-–

Were judged by their prowesses…

Woe be upon the Titanes

Who once threatened Olympos

And fell by the left hand of Athene

Masquerading as Zeus’ right

Who reigned as his charioteer

Until Helios betrayed his parentage

(To but turn day into night).

Whose siblings, wrought from Styx

Would be remembered so

Incompletely

Yet so repletely?

Glorious Victoria of The Cold River…

Her likeness is still dusted

Even within contemporary thoughts:

Like a needle, a worm, a sliver…

Her first search reveals her transformation

From success in war

Success in peace

Success in exsanguination—

She is commodity.

She is shodding and shield

Worth levees to steal.

The idea she once lived as? They sell.

Winged handler, bearing palm and cup

She once squeezed wine for the god of love

To balm a bruised ego and reward his dues…

Now she is but mere immortal

(An idea, squeezed, exsanguinated)

Into shoes.

W: Querie Series

Who are you?

What are you?

Where are you?

When are you?

Why are you?

And when asked where you find yourself when finding the truth of who and why

(Concerned, as always, with the inside of what–)

How you are dictates whether you begin your search

Or not.

X: I Swear this Doesn’t Happen All the Time (It Happens All the Time)

You wouldn’t even be surprised to see

All the strange things that appear to be

Fascinating enough to assassinate… one’s ring.

Oh, you know what I mean!

I work behind the booth, first one to hear, and

I’ve lost count of everytime it’s mumbled or jeered:

“Is that a… [INSERT TOTALLY BENIGN OBJECT HERE]?”

(Yes. It is. The X-Ray was all too clear.)

Somehow their friends always find out, laying in, and

Laughing away at all their fetishized sin.

“What made you think it would make a good fuck?!”

“Well, frankly, it doesn’t normally get stuck.”

Y: Where We Wanted the Wild Things to Be

Bloodless, keepers?

What did you honestly expect?

You can put a cage around animals

But–and no disrespect–

They aren’t obliged to remain unnatural.

I imagine people who play with their cake

Can appreciate that sentiment at least.

Because what you did was prepare a two-legged feast

For the beasties you like to think you can crate.

And with so much real estate?!

Oooooo.

They found out you got sold stolen land, didn’t they?

They always do.

Boohoo.

Anyway

Before I preach about the ethics of such a breach

(In sanctity, sanctuary, humanity, and otherwise…)

You’d best get wise.

You thought you pulled a fast one.

Donating all this–pretty, endangered bison an’ all–

For a good cause, to a good people; for hope in the great Yellowstone…!

But all I fucking hear is,

“Buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo

“buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo.”

Z: Hooves, Once of Red and Green

Passing through the brush

Its aim is not invisibility but mistake.

A flicker of movement, a rush

Then only stalks, grass, and thrush.

Untamed, unnamed, yet mained

Our king watches over the brood.

His savanna wasn’t always so pained.

Once, Acacia was short, less strained.

Then the fangs and long necks came.

King’s camouflage stretched to escape.

Being Acacian meant being named.

To survive, they gave up the claim.

He watches now, for any telling sign.

His ears swivel when the grass sways.

His feet dance with the earthly sighs.

Even the flies aid their clever disguise.

But the king’s herd are never still.

Stillness is the betrayer, their death.

The fanged pounce, seeking a thrill

And lack any mercy tied to their kill.

So, the king and his never hold back.

And watch sunsets on their old trees.

If they cannot hide, they can attack

And their angry braying reminds the fangs of a nightdog’s laugh:

An Acacian

All painted white and black.

My Motivation Cometh from Without

My fondest comet

Simple and ageless, you fill all my rooms

With your hate

With your smiles

My every breath – a service to you

Yet you wait for no one

Least of all

Me

.

My star, my boundless thing

A visit from you is magic in its purest form

An angel’s kiss

Though, you are not a promise of love

But of judgement

And it is in your name

I have sinned

And I will sin again

And you revel in it

With me

.

When I am without you

I am not nothing

I am self loathing and fear

An imposter

Rolling about my empty bed

Agonizing the lost time

I could have spent it all in your arms

Trussed up in your ice and flame

In your heart

I am pain

I am a thing, dredged up from the sea

Without you

I can’t

Anymore

Fathom

.

Here we be

You and I

Poison and pleasure

Past and present

Owning and being owned

And I want for nothing else

Only

That you love me while you are here

And come back

After you’ve

Gone.