Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

I am looking for
a correspondent whose
heartbeat quickens
by ripped-apart
sealing wax,
months in wait
of a canceled
stamp.

I am looking for
a soldier's return.
I am Cleopatra.
I ache for Anthony's burn
upon my breast,
asp in hand grasped
at the neck.

I am looking
for an antique Greek
silk scarf
draped
around
naked
virtues,
prepared
to be pulled off
with a gentle
tease.

I am looking
for exposure
by an easy
delight of senses
exchanged word
for word.

Please my
look into
you.

I am Odysseus
you are my Penelope
weaving your tapestry
unwinding it at night
waiting for my return.

the asp is lubricated
Anthony was after all
an honorable man.

Isadora strangled by a scarf
is like being shot on stage
what a way to go.

I am Greek for you.
Carry me home on a shield.

i is a dora
open, baby,
don't kidjyerself
about honor like that.

antony had a screwloose
somewhere, never came
back to his cleo

but scarf it up to
not paying attention
to the venom.

i am isadora,
dunkin' my whole
soul into a digged-in
bent knee twist angled
just left of the argument,
ready for a leap.

i keep my greek silk
wrapped loosely around
values and questions.

dance me on your shield.

i am pulled home
by the battle.

I would Billy the Kid myself
in a cocaine shootout
I'll face the Cyclopes
and Scilla and Charybdis
and the terrible lotus

I'm John Wilkes Pantera
I want to die with Greek silk
about my neck, like a dancer.

But I never had rhythm
only a good memory
it was my shield
I have no questions about our legend.

the girl got a little Iliad,
but don't think that's
Oddyasee,
'cause when
he talked that
Greek shit,
she replied,

can't hit a
Homer
every time.

----------

but i am blind
in the only eye
i have, your cyclops
gaze. legendary.

i ask nothing
other than good
memory to the
death.

be my Cyclopes
let me hit you in the eye
and I don't mean the eye that blinks
I mean the eye that poots and stinks

yeah, butt, don't be ass inine, lightning rod.
it's ok to be a little cheeky, butt you're going
too far

I'm an Astroglide sideshow
my Odyssey is only six inches
the journey into your bowels
the scent of that lotus
with criminal intent.

i am blind
in the only eye
i have, your cyclops
gaze. legendary.

i ask nothing
other than good
memory to the
death.

i repeat
my staccato.

i meet your
rhythm with
vocal chords.

Imagine Gandalf in the Illiad
or Homer writing the Lord of the Rings
or Rimbaud writing My Favorite Things.

Telemachus was intent and had a strong sword
he was more insistent than a Christmas carol
intent and insistent as my love for you.