Medusa's death was not all in vain
After Perseus' sickle caressed her neck
She gazed at his aegis with eyes of victory
And whispered your name to the wind.

Steno and Euryale raised you well
To become all the things they can never be
A monster's dreams, an outcast's hopes
Your sisters' love turned to sibling rivalry.*

And here you are, in the world of mortals
Trying to love what your sisters loathed
Begging to understand the ways of men
Seeking your own form of redemption.

But as the fourth Gorgon you are yet to be
You're all the things a monster is not
Transcending divine beauty effortlessly
Putting all the Greek goddesses to shame.

Your gaze doesn't turn mortals to stone
But rather warm their cold and drunken hearts
Your hair's on braids, not a hundred snakes
Stroked by velvet palms instead of hands of brass.

You got a pair of fangs, but harmless ones
That makes your smiles the most fascinating
Perhaps even Athena, goddess as she is
*Can't curse a rare beauty that you are.

You all do realize I hope that
Republicans McConnell, Rubio,
Chaffetz, Hatch, & Paul Ryan
all forcefully denied Obama's
2013 request to Congress for
authorization to strike in Syria
after Assad's use of chemical
weapons in the city of Ghouta,
they all answered an emphatic
No! ...

with various shades of political
double-talk, America First, &
"oh look where it might lead"
pontificating & conservative
posturing,

but now! ...

oh now when Trump launches
a missile strike they're all praise
and "God Bless America" &
proud, & pumped & feeling
like real Americans again,

oh good god the hypocrisy,
the shallow interest driven
ethics, the lies, the brazen
pretence & self-serving
awfulness of these cold
calculating humans of
ours.

You know, I've always contemplated suicide, thru my whole life it seems. But really all I want is to be dead to people so I can finally live.

I am reminded of California when I hear the birds call to each other in the afternoon
I used to spend hours being as still as possible, so they’d trust me
or forget about me, I’ll never know

I am reminded of Maine when humidity hits
the smell of salt and wind cracking through my skin
I used to spend hours searching for sea glass on their tiny beaches
until my hands grew numb,
until my pockets were full

I am reminded of Italy when the Verbena bloom
a country full of colour, is somehow still one palette
from azure lakes to olive hills, and the small islands full of lemon trees and melon gelato
I used to spend hours in il giardino
thumbing through botanical encyclopedias
digging into latin, trying find meaning for my solitude
antirrhinum, basilico, mentha, zucca, cortarderia, pioppi, *vitis

She loved Pan,
Adored him,
Wanted so much for him to
Dwell,
Deep,
Within her
But Tink,
so small
And Pan,
Well, he was Pan
He loved the Wendi Bird
So,
Tink
was happy for the mere chance
to rest
in Pan's pocket
And he carried her there.....