I loathe imagination;
I lay in bed dreaming
of reality; fictional
creatures telling me
to go **** myself: I
imagine u lying next
to me like so many
days & nights telling
me to go **** myself
moon at the window

Ur eyes consuming flames;
breath like sweet mint;
teeth like gnashing blades;
lips like soft licorice;
hair swept back & away;
ears pointed as suspected;
neck long & tubular;
chin stubbled;
shoulders tapering gently
away from ur wings;
breast full & new-
motherly; waist cinched
muffin-top; callipygean
behind & legs Jack would
would envy I climb; toes
ragged razors; feet sole
pumiced & pampered;
thou art my sole one as if
thee twere two; perennial
du jour; delicious as poison;
all I see is invisible
& all is all I see

I know this b/c I was told by a palace eunich
who bore silent witness for centuries; he & his odalisque
wife who tends the sacred flame & bears prophecies
from the gods when they are not too urgent;
otherwise Prometheus passes them off to Hermes
who then informs Dionysus;
but when Medusa goes below his belt & discovers
she has been secretly married in Vegas or Hades;
her shade honeymooning in ***** which resembled old Beirut in those days; as if twere her own mirror’s image
she shopped for big colorful hats & wore them
to ceremonial parades but not wanting to be caught out
changed her name to Kali going by the moniker
mother of destruction; sounds cool right? Shiva didn’t know
what she got up to when she was out of his sight
but he was too busy wreaking havoc of his own;
her jewelry damningly strange; skulls & bones of men
she'd turned to stone; Medusa cleaned up nice &
calling herself Parvati stepped out w/ Hermes &
went slumming in the Neoplatonic bars along the coast
in her bikini; shocking Shakti tan the envy of every
Mediterranean maiden; every matronly Roman **** talking
about that gorgeous black ******* the beach
whose skin sparkled like night; Medusa laughing
up the sleeve of her striped cover up; is she a Jew,
they asked, or the reincarnation of Cleopatra;
surely the latter, let’s ask the witch of Endor
but Samuel isn’t saying; let’s ask ******* Apollo
but he isn’t saying, spitting in Cyclop’s eye;
Hermes isn’t saying & even Hera is yesterday’s news

These ****** intentions
seem to **** more than those so-called "reported" serial *******.

To say,
      -off the record-
that you give me both...
feels very disturbingly corrupt

yet thats not why you see me blushing.


can this burning betrayal flesh be helped or better prevented? probably not

my fight or flight instinct is to be the only suicidal bunny wet with desire, pressed up against the starving fox
wanting you to give me it all.

this is to be the root of my eternal damnation.

have all these urges
      -that even you have yourself-
really be tainting the fragile lining of my soul using only my sinful secrets like a parasite?

or is the questioning of my own morality while you **** me religiously the real sin?

How dare my mind even wonder while you posses me from the inside.

if i am to be ****** for finding what you only long for then so be it,
mark me ****** and chisel me into the future's mythology.

and on that day,
the divine powers from above decide to strike me down,
        when they smight me,

plaguing me with some eternal curse
I will welcome all fates with a smile.

I found a love so powerful it made destiny insecure

resulting as my name serving as some cautionary tail of knowing ones place
forever blazing in the stories with danger and warning.

but even if the sight of me were to turn you to stone, making me your demise,

i will deliver your marble tomb each and every time.

I will always choose to make you hard-always.

I’m Medusa, yes Medusa
Not long life that was Methuselah
Vile violent visage I am the muse for
Gorgon legend is my future

I’m abused and an abuser
I am used and I’m a user
Magnet to so many suitors
Once a beauty now a bruiser

Myth: Just deserts for killer cougar
Truth: ***** then accused as a seducer
Athene was my disapprover
Sisterhood is just a rumour

Hair curled tight it can’t get smoother
Locks they’re snakes crawled from a sewer
Lovers now they’re getting fewer
Call me mad it’s only lunar

Perseus my persecutor
In slaying Titans he’d been tutored
He is blessed, I’m outmanoeuvred
My death births Pegasus the wing’d hoofer

Seem to have lost my sense of humour
Need more than a troubleshooter
Temperature has just got cooler
Turn to stone you’re such a loser

anna jones ©2017

born ugly and wick
a monster and a beast
but what's behind
the story of yours?
hidden beneath those eyes of gold
you wear scales as your skin
but is it impenetrable of pain?

In the eyes of gods
you were wronged
but it was them
who made the fault
always be remembered
etched in the pages
of history untold
a merciless and vicious fiend
not a young maiden
who desired to be loved
but was taken before she could have

In your Sillouette,
Painted Gold, against Magic Curtain.
This Oz Stage, Hiding our bodies.
I am lingering.

You are gilded beautiful
Bare ******* pointed at Chandeliers
****** Capstones sealing perfect Arches
I am a foot protruding from your sculpture
In mustard.
I am that blot behind your Hip Bone

Cold Draft from the window
Opened Opposite the Magic curtain
A breath of ocean waves
Our bodies casting illusions
In ripples of Moonlit fabric
Dancing around our sillouette.

Black Moss collects in the shape of your tattoos
Silk screen thighs,
Underbust Corset

where the breeze whispered

where my fingertips wrapped your hipbones.
growing where we Calloused
In our Roughs
In our trenches
Rubbing Leather against Silk

You invested in our common interest.
A mirror, Fastened to the Ceiling.
Reflecting Our Two Loudest Vices.
Ownership,
And your body.

I love the Chips in your paint.
I hate the man who painted you.

infected by Tunnel vision Voyeurism
Sick with a Spiderweb brain
Spinning from your imperfections.
You are so, perfect.

Artists come from all over
To watch the magic curtain.

Your Golden arching Back.
My Mustard Toes.

we all look at you,
even you look at you.
we do not Blink.
Just stare, position ourselves.
behind this curtain.

Our callouses grow like the black moss
bodies marble under ocean pressure
erode from the chill winds
Your archaic exhibitionism
Carved From Counting Gazes
Mustard eternally pondering
why our sillouettes, different colors
Drawn by the same moon,
Casted on the same cloth.