In Paradise Lost…
by grimbeau
Chronicles of an endgame
sour the day,
The last cormorant glides
home half-asleep.
The tapering headland not
faraway
Is blacker; the treachery still
indiscrete
I trail past the quiet, dark
caravan
Chest pounding with sorrow,
tried to walk
it off but
it don’t go.
That woe-begotten rotten vixen’s crushed this
bleeding heart.
On the rise, I make out the chirpy nightscene
Of Port Ithaca’s tourist
hostelries
Thronging poached obscene grockles
Python Lee Jacksons in a
broken dream.
In bleak, rocky gloaming
sunsettings.
A Has-been at
seventeen,
Slip slow my
Instamatic in my jacket pocket
And leg it
to the Admiral Benbow
Childhood’s true
Denouement
Calamares! Just stop this
punishment!
Onlooking makeshift beach
shanties say:
You polluter of paradise, repent
Your vile Ouzo hubris
I perish cold
And alone on this too early morning
Watch a little life pass by,
transient soul
Is floating about you, a dark
sponge gloating
At flaccid white Nordic
corpulence.
Soon the morning beautiful will bring
Bronzed, ideal,
muscular poseurs, chewing
Lotuses
laughing stage loud at the thing
Sat shivering in freezing cold Ionian bliss
Hungry harpies,
daring you to
steal a piss.