Theseus (day 1637)

I am the rage, I am the heart,
I am octo of each mensis;
Nothing less, a hero’s bravery.

Aethra was my unwed mother,
A time of Gods who took their fill,
Infiltrate the mortal world.

Art thou Poseidon who ruled the seas,
Easily suspected brother of three,
Or Aegeus, King of my throne to be?

Bandits, tricksters, murderers, fools.
A Heroes challenge, a Heroes makers.
And served with a sorceress’ spoil.

Within the labyrinth a Minotaur,
Proof became the feat,
And a ball of thread, home and free.

Dirty I Dry (day 491)

I’ve met you on the streets of Athens
Scribbling notes in you paper bound pad
I’ve photographed you sitting in a doorwell
Along the dark streets of Budapest
I’ve handed you change from my own pocket
Calm as I was, poor as I be
Because I’m a fortunate soul
You, begging with a bowl
Most would call an ornament
From the crumbles of Istanbul
Sitting on the stool sipping your tea
I’ve washed in your bathroom
My dirty hands of pain
As I smoked the hookah bong
Struggling forward in the death of desire
Bucharest pulls from my hands
I’ve slept alone with my fathers ghost
Dying in the ashes of a holocaust
Purified in the frozen ocean
Of the forgotten Baltic lands
Riga took away my pain
One knitted scarf at a time
Until my condom did run dry
My bitch dog fattened on the ham discards
As I strolled choking through the graves of kings
And as I stripped bare
And threw myself about the rocky shores of Stockholm
I learnt that I could still walk
In spite my increasing desire
To elevate my feet, out of the rain
Dry, protected with the wax from a can