I Killed Orpheus

It’s not my fault

I’ve heard from others that your words speak

I’ve been informed your music addicts the soul

Yet, still, I cannot hear or feel

An extraneous birth I’ve bled

A foreign substance beneath the tongue

Subcutaneous- bludgeoned within

Orpheus, did you find your bride?

I’m sorry, from my hands your heart did stop

My mind is an athenaeum

Comprehensive, vast

Hollowed are my thoughts of you

For each hand etched syllabic impression-

For the beautification flowering from your song-

Circumvent me- an incomplete wager yet anted toward

Vacuous void, a void to see

I’ve reserved a space- a lee- to rest your stoned-in-tomb

A Dose of That

No Time for Recreation

In the unforgiving sense

No gasping for repeals

In the circus of repented ideals

Vials of this and doses of that

Every solution

Won’t provide you

With what you’re looking for

Archaic, convenient

Jagged, restored

Fleeting,

Are the songs sung while you sleep it off,

Filling your surroundings

With Gospels of prosody,

Stories have been told

Passed from elders to kin,

Retold in book form

And traditions lose their historical sense

A slight alteration to the text

May destroy or may surprise

Depends upon the context of the consequence