Sings a small boy whose hair is tousled by the wind,
As too the folds of his mother’s peplos and the robes of clouds,
When Greece gathers in silence like the stillness for a deposed crown,
And all Athens around, the song of eiresione for firstfruits of Autumn,
Singing boys with the olive branches of colored wool and garlanded gourds,
A fall-bird to wander the Ionic sky, foretelling of new sunrise.
How that joyful ancient voice still haunts the songbird of sunset.

The soul has as its sextant the ribs opened wide,
The heart its compass in fluid circuitous diatribe,
When each to zone the geometry of Greek sky  
With its powdery fabulism of centaurs and jars
From Aesop’s wine of words, the untimeliness
Of sundials to Charybdis’s bloom of giant watery eyes.

To know oceans by the dry riverbed of my pulse,
To scale only as high as the sparrow’s tomb of my heart.

Most of the time, I don’t think of you
Maybe it’s because of your age
Maybe it’s because we’re safer now
Or maybe it’s because I live in always-sunny California
But when that sky does darken
And the rain comes down
I’ll hear you
Like some primordial call, dug up from the Earth or my bones
Sometimes-I’ll even see you, but just for a moment
By now, I’ve forgotten what your face looks like
But I can’t ever unlearn that power
Its no wonder you used to be the king of gods

Praise be to Sappho
Noblest of poets
Lover of words and women
Who gave us that language
So we could love women
As well

Blow, Lyceum grasses, blow,
From coiled lips of your wolf-god Apollo
Whose dawn-padded paws to starprints roam
This temple-tribute to thought-illumined roads.  

Blow, Lyceum grasses, blow
Of wave upon wave of your brushings-by,
From staff to sandal-fall to cloak hemline,
For rhapsodes, your song-odyssey to sew.

The Greeks built the sun,
Upon scaffolding~acrobaticon~  
With pear-skinned lightness to glow,
Or like leavened bread from the woodburning stove.

Blow, Lyceum grasses, blow,
The sun lies old on its famine-cracked pillow,
In spittle of gold and yellowed phosphorous,
With the gods past-blown to ruin.

What am I?

"Cast your body into the ocean,
   ask if there are Greeks down there?

Sail, as it were, upon the Seas...
   ...and find yourself; every where."

Métis, Themis, Ma’at, their banter was for naught.
All the tides and tithings wisdoms and their teachings, Daemonium forgot!

But the heavens cry  manna as Nix cried out reprieve!
An act that loosed the flood, the chaos of her sea.

Her pain arose a champion to tend to all her needs,
Formed of Celestial Ocean he bore down on the freed.

A giant wave of madness, thrusting mist of sadness eradicating gladness... One led the ruthless breed.

Opaque in their beginning, formless shapes in twining.
Conjoined but not together, accompanied the weather.
Thalassa’s stringy tether wrapped them all forever.

Come or go in seasons, live or die in age.
No Spring to Fall in reasons, travailing of the mage?
Black tentacles the streamers, rooted into wave.
Witness the all-wise and snaking phantom phage...

Chiron watches while he prances, his dressage on the shore.
Arising liminal of beings wettened ambiguity of yore.
Even Iblis is impressed, such black rotten to the core!

Merkabah or egg, mountain, belly, tree they squabble.
All elements do I cobble, such are actions of the wobble.

you will drown, you will drown
you will drown
and i only like you for the taste
of blood in my mouth

you will drown me, you will drown me
you will drown me
and she sees it, too
the way you **** me under your skin

oh, darling, you're gonna burn
i'm already burning;
i think it's time you joined me,
searing sunlight smiles sparkling, laced

with plasma, ichor,
these white teeth take a bite
and i remember you're mortal
for the copper tang on my tongue

i only like you for the taste of blood in my mouth
i only like you for the taste of blood in my mouth
i only like you for the taste of...
there is no taste to describe the feeling of falling in love

i wish i could lie to myself better,
maybe it'd make me more convincing
when you tell me you love me
and i say i don't love you at all

Few people recognize genius when they see it…
…even less understand it.

Eileithyia does though for she gave birth to it.