adrena

Peacock with the all seeing vision
Seated at the right hand of an angry goddess. . . .
Skilled with magic and art
And armed with a deserted princess,
To bargain against a pantheon of the rich and merciless
Scattered to the wind
In the fashion of modern myth
Taken with a note
On the little brown bottle marked Drink Me
The aspartame messages found
In chance encounters with the voice of prophecy
Which caught the virgins ear at the Delphic Oracle
With tales of a bull horned god
Seeking refuge from common roles of order
And told the secret kept by Hera
To the mysterious twins of Leda,
Who are alive and dead
Of this earth and not. .

So alone at last with the peacock
And asking of the virgin. . . . .
Unto what hills have we traveled
And what paths have we crossed
That so suddenly of late, we are so lost?