Execution

O Muse let us scream tell us the story of blind-eyed

blessed girl whose thoughts tremor with each breath she

Forces from her closed throat as though the heavy-metal guillotine were

to be held by Hades, forced with poppy-seeds down her esophagus

so she holds him company for six forsaken months- to the weary of her

cracked-tan skin. He gives no mercy only presses tighter and

in her head she feels him pushing her brain from indulgence

Sending impulses and electricity with a ferocious-intensity;

there’s something she hasn’t felt for months. And she feels

everything and nothing and she feels the mass that keeps her

weighted down, the wholeness of a being that can only

be what defines the person. Still she swallows deeper resists further

and Zeus knows all the infinite-atoms which vibrate in fear-

shaking when she listens, and exploding when she speaks.

There exists a threshold. It ropes her in

with each quiet-crackling of resolve- o Glorious Muse

pity on this poor blessed girl whose eyes scorch from her torn fingers,

she rubs until she can recognize her own disintegration ;

Hunger leeches off of the negativity that builds in the vast softness

of her gut, while she push-pulls away from herself until

the Gods have learned to keep the fierce beasts gated- they feast

And she learns not to bite the hands that feed.