nobody sees how today’s yesterday rhymes with
the yesterdays of a brave or not so brave
Gilgamesh holding a plant/ fruit, something rather,
taken by the same
swimming, hungry, fruit tempting
*******
serpent or God-thing
always hungry for a piece of tail

and Gilgamesh, we use to sing your yarns in Uruk, but
no longer do we know your lovers name

so half the tale gets left out

was your life ever found out there,
in the wilderness?

or did you go out kicking, clapping,
nails six feet deep in the carpet,
screaming your ode to the kitchen door
and the lone flower blooming and
wilting, dead and gone, on the
other side?