sleepy little monster
caught in a trap
not the sphinx
some other kinda bitch or jackal
these then are the salad days
i guess this white whine is the dressing
i suppose these clouds are the mayonnaise
i wonder if this ocean is the ointment i need
i need to read more about need
i mean i want to do that
i think it will help me feel
feel the waves engulfing me
a piano arpeggiates and modulates
the foam fluted
the deluge is tongued
music will herald the end
old nick blowing on a tomb bone
until then
in these years
in these stormy balmy times
until our island sinks
or apollo looses a plague
you will remain chained to my pain
not what you wanted to hear
gently dozing terrible little gargoyle
now that youre unkillable
undrownable even in this specific ocean
more hideous than all the denizens of any deep
reaching out in your tentacled slumber
a wild wreck on a distant shore
the surf pounding in your two ears
the ears that hear the eyes
the eye which looks
the eye that sees
the seas that seize
and the amazing days of olde
when the anointed one trod these sandy paths
and he wrestled the great serpent
and cast him down to sodoms deep pit
where the fire causes him to scream
and his screams float over the ashes like echoes with wings
and by harvest time they arrive at the ocean ravenous
and they drink it dry
until neptunus comes out in his fury
strangled by his godly magnificent hands
they disgorge the seven seas
and a great turmoil coils about the heavens
until the thunderer appears wrapped in nimbus
his voltage bolts electric cute crucifying and transfix
the stormwielder
god of most hosts
fierce and beautiful and old and young
recreated the land and studded it with new cities
filled them with things like yourself
half angel half idiot
dragging yourself along bound
bound nowhere else but where
the fruit bears itself to stain
corrupted to soon
undone
unravelled
unquenchable
the wind has whipped the sand into your eyes