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Thursday, July 16, 2009

Ilium, Tonight

Tonight you begin your ceremonial cleansing
after your indenture as a galley slave.
The droopy eyes of your freckled ghost hangs below,
tired after a long hard labor, as it catches its reflection
on the mirrored streets after a sleety rain.
It tugs at your elbow. A drowsy gnaw escapes from its lips
in drools of cotton smoke.
It knows that suffering is a padlock fastened to your freedom.
That love began with her apple and shall end with your dust.

Tonight the galley will be closed for the freedom
to shine through.
But the stony ramparts of your mind are sealed and you run towards the No Exit.
You run towards him that walked on water and now stands on your parking lot.
The word dribbles from his hand and melts.
You search in vain for it in the grains of sand
or among the jetsam of your childhood dreams.
Your ghost knows that truth alone is not enough.
And that faith is a beautiful visitor who seldom stays.

Tonight you will burn in the cauldron of your love
with her face as the oil.
It was your prize to see her naked in her tower of atonement.
She tore your mother’s mourning cloak. She breached your walls and cut your throat.
And she made you sit on the altars of immortality.
You now stand near the gates of your Ilium, poisoned by your freedom.
The proud forts have all fallen and the stars have crumbled to dust.
You only hear a dirge-like whisper playing upon his harp.
“O you children of liberty, to suffer is to be free”.