That class is sponsoring a thorough bred fair—creating war winning story that doesn't fit neatly onto a bumper sticker. Only a standard reply from featherless wing—bloviating an appeal to the conscientious authority. Go back: polish the Augean non-staples, rear up stallions to break geldings, eat beefsteak, drink whiskey at whistle, stop. That class only teaches a Greek hero clean-up. Meanwhile, they claim victory.

I notice the night's no longer whole because you never call
yet a big part of me still wants to see your face...
just so you know I still hear your voice down the hall
and smell your fragrance in the air polluted by the flowers
with the part of me that still believes my arms are your place
your final destination as you're my constant hallucination
so I spend every little micro second of my daily hours
hoping for a miracle, wishing I were an endless tentacle
or even Heracles, to divert the Augean of your Heart
and have the magma of your passion flow back into my soul
so that I can once again be the whole
_______________
You were right and I was wrong, without you I ain't strong
Am tired of waiting for a tomorrow, that's free of you and free of sorrow
Tired of holding my breath, it ****** feels like the sigh of death
And my mind wandering, why won't you come and save me?
come and save me, save me love..
_______________
I have run, from wine to ***, to every end of this cold earth I could roam
your silence is deafening loud, hitting my ears harder than echos of a drum
hanging on perilously like a derailed speeding Tram...
for am out of ways of lulling my mind from chaos back to calm
My life's a dark night without a single star, my soul a million a scar
you were not my world, I was wrong about that too
you are my galaxy and there's no existence without you
I'd surrender all this to just one more time hold your hand,
a thousand years to see your footprints next to mine on the sand
for a minute with you, I'd give away forever, be it for a second or less
after all momentary completeness I guess is better than a lifetime mess
you should see me now, shredded like a sensitive document no longer needed
maybe you succeeded
________________
Y­ou were right and I was wrong, without you I ain't strong
Am tired of waiting for a tomorrow, that's free of you and free of sorrow
Tired of holding my breath, it ****** feels like the sigh of death
And my mind wandering, why won't you come and save me?
come and save me, save me love..

You’re impenetrable my little
Nemean lion
You have cauterized your skin my brittle
Lernaean hydra
Forever I'll chase my crippled
Ceryneian hind
Where ever you lay waste my graceful
Erymanthian boar

Even if you never come clean my *****
Augean stable
No matter how many you eat my hungry
Stymphalian bird
No matter your myth my covetous
Cretan bull
No matter how many you’ve ate my cannibalistic
Mare of Diomedes

Even if blood has to shed my bellicose
Belt of Hippolyta
I built this field for us to grow my starving
Cow of Geryon
I will hold your world up my poisoned
Golden apple of the Hesperides
I will travel to the depths of hell for you my frightening
Cerberus

The syzygy of peace and enlightenment
Are better than gentle fighting and Death.
The malfoy of everything wasted as if fruitless
Tears, unanswered prayers, broken vows, unfulfilled:
Since desires and intentions- just to measure are
The defiled Ammonites lunar malabar; fro' the
Augean stables of Astolpho, the Triform King
Demanding a ******, the streaming bi-frost
Between mice and men extrapolative of silver and gold.
Apocynthion Horns to the East, as well, as also, with
Pericynthion Horns to the West nourishing Skuld
without Arnon...Moloch with Molech!












ELEETE. J. MUIR.

Cleaning the Augean
stables, I was going
to punish myself.

A soldier of your conscience
you will not commit
suicide for the sake of heaven.

History repeats itself.
There was no waiting
to open the morgue and
search your cadaver.

A burnt out stigma
still spreads the incense.
Blackbirds fly in unison.

A crepe bandage
was not sufficient to alleviate
the pain of centuries.

I am still asking
myself to receive a gift
of poverty.

Truth has lost its glitter.