08 December 2001 - 10:27 p.m.
Straight Back and Arrogant Head
Vexing the fading safety-lines with my boots,
I'm ready to become your headache,
the more than you can chew, the beauty
with the spells of the gorgon in front of her.
It's not up to me to save you, although
I'm more inclined to sail through the dark
for those who beckon with craft and memory.
Show me how you would duel with your flute --
how you'd slash across these cobwebs of connections?
I stand at the station, patron of storms:
Though you yearn and you strike, you are not my war.
Inspired by this month's Alchera assignment. For more background on this poem, see my earlier entry.
(And if you came from there, you'll note that I cleaned up the punctuation and made several more changes as I was preparing this page...)
(And still more tweaking Sunday morning....)
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