Neither right nor left the hurricane circles
around its placid eye, not know
Polypheme's peace, a sensuous morsal
for Tantalus.  Onan debating virtues of
east and west with Narkissos holds his hand
with a meager harvest bearing them usual fruits
at the deceptive transition of the storm.

As for me, the verdant right and western fork
is become wasteland, carrion haphazardly tossed
litter roads in the rotations of the winged whirlwinds;
with one eye to see, I reach out for you
who twirls to another side.

A doubt assails me if that moment
or its affine parallel meet me in this my finity;
when I grasped your hand mutual
rhythms danced around us suspending that moment
as you welcomed in your palm's soft hollow
my lonely suckling caresses —
and our archeological greed
dominated caution;

few benefits gained from Chastity's demise:
Androcles and his lion painted over
an ossuary where a giant vermin fed upon
the thorny apple we extracted; the maggot
nibbled the pome and gnawed the bones indifferent.
Spiral upon spiral upon spiral, arriving
in a square peopled with reluctantly clay homunculi,
to the left a carved niche in stone,
and for a pause we abbandon the normal path
to descend the wayward climax, its gyres, dales;
only a door with "...Frate" the sole clear word
in the epigraph:  the password, "...ponder";
Sappho, again have I exploited you.

Superimposed laughter dubs our mated tears
a breach display of imposed passion
embodied as Love, we pronounce a single image.

Seeds of a song
within a maze
where Daedalus, the doorman,
compell us in the
corners, stones and cobbles,
doors and vaults, and shadows,
yet no advance; where does time hide,
where is its hermitage?
for I am anachronism par excellence.

The merydian has no more shadows to cast
now time's consumed the remaining light.
The pendulum's turned silent, used up his chimes;
all history melted into a single yesterday,
a gilded word in atavian limbo...