Thursday, July 7, 2016

An Invocation

Anise, anise, anise,
Open my mind and free my tongue!

And Crotus,
I invoke your muses to sing me their songs,
sharp and sweet as your arrows

So that fanciful visions of maidens and fauns,
eyes slow-adjusting,
I might awaken to

From ruins of adulthood, feigned for so long—
for a thousand years this mask I’ve donned,
which I now cast away with the sweetest relief
and surprise—
for I thought it my own face, changed.

And the moon will wholeheartedly welcome me home;
free, free, free—

And the tower may loom while the hanged man plays,
for I care so much less what becomes of me.

Looking for truth in a peridot bottle.

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