THE WEAVE:
Mars is still spying on
the Nymphs, dancing on
the ferry, when a shimmering
hand, covers his eyes. Moonie
whispers in his ear…
"The mind is
a fine-tuned instrument,
but finicky
on the front lines
of incident.
Stuck in the muck
of may, havoc, and must be.
Bent on redemption
and a fair exchange,
as if give and take is
an even game. It's
all about the output.
Find a Way to outlast
it. An itchy feeling?
Don't scratch it.
Don't make a task
of catching shadows,
they breathe too
shallow..."
"...Does this mean,
you're going to let me go?"
Mars whispers back, panting
as a bead of sweat, slithers
down his neck.
"Yes," the Moon replies,
"There's an escape
dingy on the port side
of the deck. Athena is
in the bathroom. You have 5 minutes
to get the fuck off
this ferry, before the Nymphs
stone you to Death,
in violation of
their sacred rituals."
Mars bolts so fast,
all the Nymphs see is the swinging
door. As if he were a gust
of Wind, he's gone.