The Muse of Melancholic Fumes
uprooted the glass which incised the eye,
and with decorous hand,
escorted me back to the desert of impious minds.
I breathed in the sunlit sands with insurgent contempt
as the gentle Logos whispered tears of vigor worth to preserve.
My heartbeats raised in sickening waves
upon witnessing the mortification of inculcation
in the currents of fresh water unable to retaliate.
I ached and grieved from the shade of my parasol,
and longed for the maiden whose amphorae made the world flow.
Yet the star did not shine upon the barren land,
and I wondered who appointed the comatose to the front lines.