bionicfemme

Low for today: I'm horrifically depressed, over issues not worth wasting time over, and at one point I wished to either die or take some surplus Vicodin to numb the pain in my heart.
High for today: I read some amazing poetry by T.S. Eliot that made me think of my Hilda Doolittle/Sappho influences and I wrote a poem. I haven't written a true poem in about a year.


Andromeda rivals nothing greater than
The ridge of my brow--

Yet, Atthis, I think often of
Better times, when

You were dark and lovely, with your
Hyacinths in full bloom and
Your lips eager to profess more
Than vanity.

They say the waves circling this isle
Are more constant than your vows,
That the flames of Paphos licking the fat of she-goats
Are more decisive than mine.

I wonder nightly if these hands will remember
Their teachings, if these fingers dare
Recite the incantations in which you once took delight--

I know full well that now they only shout
Cacophony, a monologue of regurgitations,
The war-cries of a thousand soldiers who screamed
With permanence, having fallen

At Troy.