Saturday, January 10, 2009

Ethereal Beauty #64

Dawn sun peeps over blue-blanketted ocean
Like a yoke frying over the flat pan’s edge,

All is now revealed. A Zoroastrian or
Dionysian reveller quickens contracts:
Joy, shame.

Icarus held fire; Aten made no demands.
A melanoma in a hidden word in
Line eleven.

Slung high, hub hovering, glare pastes flesh, sticks dirt
With heat spears, bakes bones, corrodes the unwilling.
Hide me, God.

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