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My life-
A series of short visits
From the underworld.
They come with offerings.
Picnic baskets filled with
Pomegranates bearing bitter-sweet truths
In their seeds of intricate life.

Sometimes, I split open
The full moon
Round-faced fruit
My lips guilty with ambrosia,
My tongue limp with the sweet blood

Other times, I resist and
Embrace my vanities
Like a tree celebrating the past
Way into fall.

But most times I sit
Like Achilles beside his ships.
In paralysis I border
The land of Styx
And Olympus above,
While somewhere in between
My muse competes with my lover,
They leave me fighting alone,
Hugging myself on the dance floor