While We Slept

Cold treacle, cold, fused with the bottle
the hibernated blood stream of a sleepy bear
a geyser settling into a stagnant pool –
there in the afternoon, the chill wind blew
the moon forgot her place, forgot to rise
twinkling stars sang their somber tunes,
cradle hymns to Heracles grappling snakes.
In the corner Bacchus blubbed, snoring
spittle cementing in his beard, nyads draped
pillowing the floor with their voluptuous bodies
the baby demi-god bouncing into prone females
as he wrestled for his life.


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