Under the hard, dusty lamplight corporate pragmatism drones in front of me now. I soften the heavy blows with purple lids. My journeys so moist, distant in those eyes, eyes of antiquity and yellowed marble tombs. Roundmoon-lightspill once occupied my blue limbs In that ancient land of Aphrodite and her baths After all the goddess shares her secrets with those who venture into silver waters at dawn, and the foamy warmth becomes yet another womb from which a daughter, a lover is born. At the edge, I elevate my head to see the singers melancholy dance on the black sand those rugged men who dream of ships they dance for her: The goddess of the land; not to please her but for her sake, ancient and frail as she is crumbling like the rotted stones of Pericles in that city. Yet, withstanding the wind from the north, The goddess whispers through the trees, "I Live--- I Live".. Her salty breath salty and warm, fingers my eyes and fills them Now.
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