Tuesday, April 23, 2013

The Rape of Cassandra







Unsafe, in safety’s net:  the wrath of spit stuck
Deep in the throat by a broken promise spent
Elegant red curls, pooled by blue and white
Prophecy strode along the side like a terror.

Snakes hither and twist the lobes of frank longing
To be believed but believed be not – festering from
The nostalgic bend of splintered arrows and rust?
Nestled on the floor of burnt offerings and peace keys.

A shudder in the temple torments her like tears,
Awash in the lesser wills of man, concubine of kings
Now dead as further.

                                      Further dreams come and go,

So much worry in the ways of the night in flames,
Two boys dead in the memory of her lank futility
Scrubbed by indifference until even glowing white.