THE WEAVE:

6/5/21: Medusa stirs 

in the depths of the dark.  In her
dreams, someone calls her name.
And then, the shaking. “Wake TF up,”

Mars is whispering, “This is your chance. 
Pluto is busy.  Here, take these, 
coins, and my clothes.  Rise from this 

Death.  At the tree, by the river, go 
left.  Athena is looking for you, and 
we want to hear your side of the truth.”

The Dark Queen lays lazy, playing 
with his collar, waking. “Are you 
sure you can bear it, Fire King?”

“I’m not scared of you. Bark.
In fact, I wish you’d bite 
me first,”  Mars flirts.  Medusa 

bursts forth in a black 
ink, and leaves him, naked,
sifting through his fantasies...

…Myths of Medusa…

Phoenix

I burn as kindly as the Gods 
allow. I cup the flame, and mind 
the pops and sparks.  I pray 
no burning ember singe the ground, 
and in soft ashes, fertilize 
my heart.

Does gentle weather glow 
in After-Flame?  Can Oldness
be reshaped and worn again?
In all the dust that settles 
in the hearth, is there silver
and flint to reap a spark?

And could I hold its heat
upon my brow, yet bear to keep 
each cheek a cooling stone?  
And should a wild crackle leave 
my throat, would it reflect 
some failure in his notes?

I can’t be less than temperament
allows.  A tempest: sometimes
tender, sometimes loud. Do I
desire Flame That Never Flares,
or do I only hope to 
meet him there?

I am the flame of Child New
to Sun.  He is the flame of Temple, 
Ancient Run.  If I should break
a vase upon the stair, would he
then toss me back
upon the pyre?

I burn as kindly as the Gods
allow.  I cup the flame, and mind
the pops and sparks.  I pray
no burning ember singe the ground,
and in soft ashes, fertilize
my heart.

RED

I am the poison
berry in the snowy

winter.  I am the 
bloody beating 

heart.  I am the
hot core of the

volcanoes center.
I am the juice;

a pomegranate’s
staining mark.

Medusa enters the Middleworld,
whispering Morgana's myth...

“I am of ancient and undying
things, renewing.  I am
of Mist, and of the Spitting

Sea.  I am an island
made of Apples, and Secrets.
It is on these shores,

where Times converge, you
will find me.  The Air,
the Fire, Earth and Sea.

They all meet Here, 
at the Ever Waving Cross. I am 
the entrance of a Twinkling
 
Cave; Dark and bright.  You 
will not always know if
you like me; dampened

stone, and burning fire.
Do I envelope you, or do I
lay within, waiting for you

to drink me in? I am the Wet
and Foaming Ocean, full
yet empty, and always ready

for you to cup me with both
hands, and enter me.  I am
the Salty Dark, and Sticky

Sweet.  I am of Ancient
and Undying things.  I am
Mist, and Sea, and Apples.”

"You could be, a White Boy,"
Pluto sings, as Medusa
crosses the River...

"You promise?" Medusa replies,
to the Night, as she gives
Pluto's shadow, the finger.