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Chris Saitta Aug 13
Love not the empress curve of your cheek,
The many-storied, empty ziggurat of belief,
The man-handled, baked brick built so high,
Your grotty thighs are pasted with all your lovers,
Your lacquered heart is glazed by luminous grief,
Head-bearer of broken vases as your crown,
Filled with dry dust from liquid stars.
Diána Bósa Mar 2017
On the sky's hummock
she is like a ziggurat;
a gardener of

stars who takes care of
their shining watching over
their sparkling glimpses.

My only hope that
maybe she intend to look
after our little

and unfortunate
star too. The dim one under
whom our love was born to beam.
Brent Kincaid May 2016
I was having a cigarette
On top of a ziggurat
When I asked the Sphinx
To say what he thinks.
He said I’d know what he did
If I were in the pyramid.
But instead I had got
Myself on a ziggurat
So, he couldn’t say what
He truly thought he thought.

Then the Sphinx said to me
There will be lots of mystery
And I am certainly not joking
But you must give up smoking.
Because an important answer
Is that ziggurats cause cancer.

I don’t believe that is so.
I feel I must let you know
That there isn’t a chance
I mean, look how you dance
With your body all flat
In those tall pointy hats
Your elbows look broken
So, I know you are joking
And making an ancient pun,
You are just having fun
With a modern American.
I will do whatever I can
To try to catch the basic gist
Of whatever I have missed.

Then uttered the Sphinx
You logic is missing some links.
I’m older than the pyramids
And you are all just kids.
Now you know what the Sphinx thinks.

— The End —