Saturday, January 10, 2009

letter to medusa

sad of eyes that see and seize,
close gently no more the crusty lid
with pangs of birthing pain:

what crown of serpentine chaos
now to kingly reign appears?

a jitter-jangle claimed by stable,
a put-forth foal of glee
honored by stillness of birth?

here, in a beckon, rest awhile.

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