Medusa's Rape

Medusa was beautiful, once.

Before she was cursed she was a virgin priestess in the temple of Athena, young and sweet with lips like cherry blossoms. Her hair was long and lustrous, catching light from everything that shone, flowing like a waterfall of black silk. Her eyes, cool and deep,were the color of pebbles tumbled and smoothed by a river.

Medusa was beautiful, once, and Poseidon took notice of her as she prayed alone one day in the temple. He came to her and pressed his cool, moist hands against her shoulders. Startled, Medusa cried out, but Poseidon silenced her lips with a violent kiss from his own.

In the dark of the temple Poseidon and Medusa moved. Her alabaster skin against the stone floor bled as she struggled. His arms wrapped tight around her fragile body glistened with sweat and salt and sea. In the emptiness of the temple, Medusa's muffled sobs echoed like the hissing of wild animals. She twisted and writhed on the cold temple floor, silken hair tangled into strange ropes mingled with blood and sweat.

Poseidon left her motionless before the altar. In the grey half-light of the temple Medusa's torn skin and flesh looked like raw, beautiful marble. Her hair caught the light from the altar flame in a mysterious way and gave one the impression that her twisted locks had come to life, slithering almost imperceptibly around her head.

The world is a terrible place to raise a child.

Spiderman,

standing at the foot of his front door steps,

no more then 3 feet tall and

undoubtedly smiling underneath his mask,

flexes his foam muscles

for his uncle's camera

and stands with his little chest puffed out

filled with joy

and childish excitement

ready to go into the night

to gather candy

and shoot imaginary webs from his wrists

at Iron Man, Luke Skywalker and Buzz Lightyear.

Spiderman,

innocent and small,

no more than 5 years old,

is gunned down by baddies

and later dies

in a hospital.

Don't be alarmed.

I don't have a fear of heights because I'm afraid of falling
I have a fear of heights because I'm worried that one day
I will no longer be able to resist the urge to jump.

Happy Birthday, John Lennon.

You were such a curious creature.
I regret that I never met you, that I never saw your boyish smile in person or stood in a crowd to hear you sing in that way that I've always admired, like you were unaware that anyone was listening to you.
I've always had the idea that you were too good for this earth- too beautiful and real and pure, made of stardust or something, made of the universe. You were love in its purest form, an unadulterated piece of the beauty of the human spirit. You were otherworldly. That's why you left so soon, because this world wasn't for you. You were needed elsewhere, among the stars where you were made. Had you stayed any longer you would have lost your magic, the glow of the extraterrestrial matter with which you were made would have dimmed and slowly died, leaving you as a shell of a mythical creature,a meteorite in a science museum, a dead light bulb. You would have been old and sad and the world would have turned it's loving eye toward someone else. You would have be vaguely remembered and revered with uncertainty as a relic of some sacred time when music was more real, more true.
I wonder, did you know how magical you were? Did you understand why girls screamed at you everywhere you went? Did you understand how deeply you were loved? I wonder, what did you think of your fame? Did it embarrass you or were you unaware of it, having never noticed anything had changed? Maybe, through your eyes, the world seemed different, more awesome, more inspiring. Maybe you understood something the rest of us never will.
Maybe you're out there singing and laughing among the planets and stars, with your guitar and your glasses, orbiting around the earth, smiling in childish wonder of the view.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

your lines

i can't believe i waited this long

to realize how much i care about you

and i'm sorry that i made you cry

but i'm glad you waited for me

to come around

because now we have each other

and it's really amazing

how lucky i am

to have a girl like you

cause i still think you're beautiful

with no makeup

in flannel pajama pants

with your head in my lap

dozing through re-runs

of myth busters

and through the wormhole

and i don't even mind

that you're drooling on my knee

and i only hope that as you fade

in and out, from waking to dreaming

that i'm the one you're smiling at

in your sleep.

and really, i could never want anything more

than this

except

maybe a cheeseburger

or a burrito.

something..

i lost it

my something

and most days i miss it

because i don't know where it could be

and i don't know what it is that i've lost

i just know

i want it back

because i feel sad and empty without it

vaguely, i remember my something long forgotten

and it clouds up my mind

like a fog

like a whisper of the ghost of a memory

returning.

things you learn about yourself

somedays, when i look in the mirror, i have no idea who's looking back at me.

i look away and then look back really quickly to see if she was staring.

somedays, i can feel myself leaving myself. and i can imagine my soul saying as it floats away

abandon ship! abandon ship!

abandon