... poetry ...

An Inbred Colossus

I

An orange icicle transfixed by the gleaming Star Throw

Hangs on loosely
Frozen claws engorged with the chill
Dig furious burrows into the drapes
Covering the great Colossus with a grace notorious

Shackled in heaving chains of crimson, lead, opprobrious brow
Fathered by Brobdingnagians, the tired spires scream upwards
The damp-chested behemoth lies in a hibernated wait
Glimpsing up only occasionally at the dismal reign

Gog and Magog, living in a more unseemly time
Seek only a strange peace, both stare and nip at the Antaeus Child
While beneath his shadow in that slithering crack lies a better day
For young Colossus to find and bide his time

*****************
II

High above, in autumn skies, and through seeping peeps
In Titan clouds and Angel lairs, they gaze down
As the stoney giant leads a gaze, through winnowed lash
His ample tones, stretch and resonate as falling rock

“Dare he disjoin the old Way?” the denunciative cry
Swells down the pike, an old gray whisper trailing
Foul breath and Olympia seethes with remorse, a tangled
Braid sends down its sheath, and guile drips from his bearded chin

The lose gravel lusts for an impotent lance
And he gazes into an empty sky
Father looking down, full of spite and shame
Can they all calculate a tremor that grows, Evil lays still
Choking on the ballast. “Soon Isis will promise the demise”

*****************

III

Shards of crispy stone and flesh spend themselves
In torrid display. Legs and limbs curls into seething

Oceans of taut coition and Like-Blood oozes together from
These, our forlorn Mothers. Colossus lies in swelling
Pools of damnation covering over those simple stains.

The heavenly eyes gaze down, riddled with empathy
As a despised son groans into many grains
Of Sand. Scattering each self into truthful woes
And like Nomads, each one seeking a place in the
Groves.

“Be still!” come the winds a Voice crackled and old
Too fairy-pale and rich in want to breach this slanted
Coast. “I am but a pawn, scorned my many and
Shunned by all.” A garlge. A spit. And silence.

The Great are divided into morsels and
On these we Feast.

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