Take the curlers from my hair. Dreadlocks writhe around my stare. I have the Midas touch. My sticky polyps clutch And freeze a frieze in the dead sea. What’s perfectly said Is perfectly dead As all my snakes agree.
I molt in mythic time and raise My head against the macho gaze To turn its force to stone. My tentacles have grown Umbrellas of a convex bell Whose mouths control His human soul Before it’s sent to hell.
Medusa
ReplyDeleteTake the curlers from my hair.
Dreadlocks writhe around my stare.
I have the Midas touch.
My sticky polyps clutch
And freeze a frieze in the dead sea.
What’s perfectly said
Is perfectly dead
As all my snakes agree.
I molt in mythic time and raise
My head against the macho gaze
To turn its force to stone.
My tentacles have grown
Umbrellas of a convex bell
Whose mouths control
His human soul
Before it’s sent to hell.
[Disposable Song July 12, 2013]
Dr. Mike