Persephone’s Mistake

Raze, raze, twisting blaze
Make my devil not to want
Make my language hard and blunt

Oh, a wilder moorland hunt
Look, a rushing pseudo-child
I put to death the rabbit mild

Screaming in the underbrush
Undergrowth be bit to dust
As I walk the planet’s crust

Keep me tangled if you must
Fetter me in hocks of meat
‘til Hades puts me to sleep

Persephone to gently weep
Over her embittered sea
Washed in dark tranquility

She extends a hand to me
Slender fingers pale and bright
She fills up my head with light

And resurrects my open mind
So that the prophecy is true
So that the day we surely rue

Is closer, in that underbrush
And so, to root it out I must
Be strong of will and dead to trust

The Ballerina God

A window to the city streets
She reached into the cold and dark
She drenched her slender arms in snow

Her diamond eyes shined, apropos
Of hunger calculating, stark
The dancer calmed her body heat

A perfect pirouette en pointe
A sylphid sliver of the air
She borrowed from the undine sky

To calm her nerves and make them writhe
She let the snow float on her stare
To hide the pain of tired joints

And lo, the dancer raised her arms
She turned her face toward the dark
That loomed before the window bright

And in the olden house, her sight
Became some proscenium arch
And in the middle, there was god

It was made of dancer’s legs
A body cut of gentle forms
It danced inside the little void

She wound her body like a toy
Her silhouette limp and forlorn
Her pirouette the way she begged

She took a breath and started in
And made a tightened arabesque
Her ribcage purpled, striped and bruised

Her god at perfect form amused
Her god could drown her like the rest
But she would show it perfection

Adrenaline high heaved and died
Aching sigh moved black and blue
Body strained, contorted, dead

But the dancer moved her head
She pivoted to tight tendu
And tucked her tired heel inside

The child that it had birthed within
Brushed up against her manic beating
Heart and suckled from her veins

She smiled against the aching strain
She laughed so small, so feebly
And roared as she felt strong again

Her tendons, oh, they stretched and swayed
They dragged across her empty veins
Her muscles weakened at the seams

Her head about her like a dream
And when she put her foot to stage
Her vibrant skin broke, parted ways

Her face was open, bright and red
Her eyes the vibrant lights defined
Her swinging hair along her nape

The groping child to satiate
Inside her breast of purpled lines
Until she could not raise her head

But god descended on her form
It’s power in her empty space
And knit her crumbling body tight

So that the spotlight seemed to light
A grand adage, a triumph raised
She laughed and bowed into the void

a turned-over hourglass

oh spider giant, oh hourglass
she, bearing herself, spits the sweat of her back
over her surroundings
like some cloudy, even plateglass

her hieroglyph back arched
her great woven skin
full of moving herselves
blows open and they, exploding out
expand her
like providence from God

and the little not-god
has her sliver legs
destroyed
by some vast volume of thumb
as if God
left only providence behind