Some nights
I crack a window
to let out the stink
of darkness

unsheathe my knife
and think of carving
free my eyes

tossing them high
into a pine
so that they can see
all that isn’t going on
around me

instead I let the sharp
hard winter winds
of black starlight in

to fan the flames
of lonesome desire.

Don't give me your
Artistic mood
Your starry night
Your sunflowers
Don't give me your
Artistic song
Your lady sings the blues
Your song sung blue
Don't  give me your
Death Valley Days
Your Lone Ranger
Rather give me
Your heart
Of gold
And golden smile
Your laughter
And tears
Your kingdom
For a horse

Medusa combs her snakes back,
licks her lips,
crosses her legs on throne,
giggles,
sets her eyes on mine,
then opens her mouth,
souring the precedent she sets,
as a figure of merit.

Medusa says,
You better be the shape
Sent from the top down,
Obey, because
Medusa says,
You better hit the gym
Because you ruin
****** for everyone
You better obey,
because

The pantheon
you worship,
judges you
on high.