Can we open the door that's closing and closing again?
Everything that once fell shut
Can be unsealed again
Don't fight against windmills
It's an unprofitable strive
Just don't die and everything will turn out well
I asked him to tell you
Comply and you will save my life
Oh broken Osiris
Let Isis revive you
And after your Resurrection
Meet me in the red circle
this water is blue,
this oyster is albicant
and my hair is long and it waves.
ivory skin and paunchy lips.
i bat my lashes twice, to give you a feel of who i am.
i let the fishes rub my shoulders, to give them a feel of my soul.
i let my voice lick your ears, to give you a taste of my frequencies.
nature's calling, mother nature, and it's bringing me back
to the sea, where i have risen and where i will return.
i couldn't be more thankful for the sand that scrubs my dead
skin cells, and for the sea foam that conditions my hair.
you're so beautiful, as i stare into your eyes i can see your wrath. and the trees are greener with you around, and even though
you make flowers wilt, you make my heart pump more blood,
and you make my cheeks redder than my blood, and you make
my blood rush to my head.
your hair is long and black,
and your skin is tanned, sunkissed.
green eyes and the longest lashes i've ever seen,
a handsome man with a beardless face.
your lips are hot with passion and your hands shake with envy.
nothing can compare to you, my love. to your fire that fills my body
and takes the oxygen from me, choking me.
he moves the hair from my head, that's so long
that it covers my privates. it covers my nude.
so what happens now? i question.
he kisses my neck and adorns me in jewels.
in jewels so rich and fine, that i'm spoiled
like curdled milk, like infected water.
the air is so much cleaner,
i can feel your energy around me.
the wind is so much faster, and the sky is bluer with you around.
I believe Venus just answered my call
Psyche has gotten up from her fall
A little later than she had expected
Her mother in law had her resurrected
Wandering and searching the land like Leto
Wondering where the west wind would take her to
Blind and confused, impatient, imprisoned
She woke up to and finally completed her mission
Cupid told Psyche to just keep calm
To win the favour of his beautiful Mom
Icarus washes up on Miami Beach over the spring break of 2k16 and finds a world where the gods roam the streets,
where his wax wings burned themselves into trenches of scars down his back,
where we warn our children of the dangers of flying too high,
but forget the part about the riptides waiting if you fly too low.
He asks Siri how far away the sun is,
finds Apollo in the red rocks of New Mexico
off I-40 just outside of Albuquerque,
alone and basking in the heat.
The ice caps are melting.
The sun still hurts to touch,
burning Icarus's hands and leaving fingerprints in the feathers of his melted wings,
but Apollo is much kinder now,
soothing the skin cancer with freckles and soft touches.
It no longer feels like a damning.
This is what happens to the children of tragedies:
they flinch too much,
they fall too hard,
they're fragile as glass but immune to everything the world can throw at them.
Icarus flinches at the sound of the oceans.
He knows the wrath of Poseidon.
Icarus rises from the dead with his irises washed white
and his rips etched with Hades's name:
he should have been a child of Persephone,
spring in his hands and flowers in his hair.
He should have spent his days sprawled in the sun's caress.
He should have been infinite.
Icarus flinches too much.
That's what everyone keeps telling him.
He flinches too much at every lifted voice and crashing wave and
he flinches too much when he feels sunshine on his face.
Icarus is sorry for flinching too much.
Icarus is trying not to flinch too much.
Icarus is sorry that it's taking so long to just get over his trauma and stop flinching so much--
He doesn't know what to do now that he's touched the sun
and this time it didn't burn.
He wanted it to burn.
He wants to burn.
He wants to feel his bones breaking all over again because
that's the only time he doesn't feel like he needs to be in control.
Why is he chasing things that hurt?
Why does he feel
like he deserves to hurt?
He deserves to crash.
He finally touched the sun.
Icarus feels empty, and
he's still flinching.
i. once upon a time, there were old gods and new gods. under crumbling archways the divine and the cursed share cigarettes, lighters cupped in their hands. rain pours relentlessly from the heavens, falling to the uneven cobblestone in a sheen of silver spears and smoke. this time, nothing but prayers are shed.
ii. this is their communion: an errant hand brushes against the marbled form of Hades, rowboats rock harmlessly to the temple of Asclepius, feet shuffle across the white line and into the holy land. it is in these moments that solitude begets peace.
iii. angels tuck in their tired wings, roosting on bridges and cathedrals and alleyway corners spun with ivy. amongst themselves they count the crowds that take shelter in their shadows. every day, the numbers swell until even the loneliest of the celestial feel a warmth in their gilded chests.
iv. these same seneschals pour life through golden urns, as they had done eons before the she-wolf who nursed the founders of Roma was ever born. water flows steadily from all four rivers and through the eagle-face spics that dot the roads, blessed by frail, rosary-stained hands. even the Tiber, full of harsh currents and deep embankments, softens under the touch of a child at a fountain. life flourishes. the gods smile.
v. once upon a time, i met these cursed and divine and celestial beings. all lived together in a city as old as time itself, in a city born from clay, then wrought with brick, and finished in marble. and in this place of impossibilities, i found my heart.
i found my home
In the trenches of the sea,
There lay a city
Left to ruin.
Coral gripping like moss,
Spreading contagiously -
This is not my Heaven,
Does a lovely voice sing.
Will you drown, in peace, with me?
Alone and afraid in the dark;
Hidden in the midst;
But not entirely.
Beauties of lost spirits in seasons before my own;
Drowned by water;
Lost to fire;
Only to be known as myth -
But not a myth of life and loss.
Their songs beautiful,
Passing through your ears,
Resinating deep within your soul;
But their lust for life ...
How they long for life anew -
Not to be stolen from them,
And wish not to take;
And wish not to dwell.
A lost city drowned in time;
A Siren's city ...
A Siren's lament ...
A Siren's deep and hated
Out of the ashes I rise;
Blistered limbs, scalded eyes
Like Venus, born at sea
And arrive at shore underneath olive trees.
The rekindling of the fire has set me free- but Zephyrus' wind blows at me.
I Athena and you the Centaur;
You long to hold me, but I carry the Halberd.
I am a creature of reason and wisdom
And You, the outsider of my Kingdom.
And so the only right conclusion is hatred: malice as sharp as Caravaggio and Baglione.
So descend back into Oblivion, Lucifer
For those that abuse, will suffer.