ash wednesday

dead air fills my lungs. white

noise rattles between my ears.

my eyes are calloused. unimaginable

suffering has entered my bones. i

am a shadow of the man i used

to be. i wait on the pandion hawk

to carry me to delos, in the heart

of the cyclades where apollo was

born. i will sleep in the sanctuary

of these ancient remains. i will bow

to buddha as i scrape dog shit from

the grass. feel warm through the grey

of february. share water with followers

of saint florian. my last act of revenge

a smile with a crippled tongue. an artist

may paint my portrait, a poet of erotic

hate. i am dust and from dust i return.

 

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