The heavens sing (a daughter weeps) for Noble Perseus, son of Zeus,
Bestowed with the gifts of Olympia, he climbs
Gold wing clad feet, from swift Hermes
A sword of sun drenched bronze, from crafty Hephaestus
Platinum bejeweled shield–mirrored and all seeing–from lawful Athena.
Such noble (vile) gifts (sickness) meant for one purpose
To slay (murder) vile (noble) Medusa.
The monster’s cave gapes before him, a blackened maw, swallower of men.
A tongue of wine water froths forth
A throat of crushed stones, encrusted with skulls, all slain heroes (pigs) fallen to the task (we asked not for invaders)
A belly (a home) where the monster (mother) coils her serpent (sisters) brood
Enough serpent, speak no more
(Enough human, your tongue carves out only lies)
One cannot drown out the mighty chorus for heroic Perseus
(One must speak for headless, voiceless Medusa)
There are no voices for monsters (mothers) only swords to kiss scale (emerald) throats
Silence ophidian daughter, stone seductress
When Perseus’s blade sang, embracing Gorgon’s snake entwined necklace.
Just a wyrm you were, wiggling amidst the azure slush of your birthplace
(Just a daughter)
Shush now, there is no room for Helen’s Bane,
You lie far from the apple curves of women.
Not blessed, not welcome within the orchard of femininity.
The lush branches of beauty are barren with your kind,
You are discarded, a rotten core,
Never to be plucked from the soil choked ground
(To toil in the underworld)
An appropriate fate.
(The scorched, molten hallways of Hades discriminate against no one, poet)
Only death can embrace you.
(And so it will embrace you too)
Had you been a true apple.
(I am what I am)
Golden silk skin
(As tarnished as your heroes)
Not cobalt carmine scale
(As brilliant as tanzanite)
Beauty to save you, blooming woman
(Beauty to blind you, cock sodden men)
Perhaps Perseus’s lips, you would have kissed,
Rather than the pulping heel of his boot
But a glorious marriage (rape)
Awaits not the wyrms of the world
(There are no tongues for our voices, no muses to sing our poems)
Heroes get tales, monsters get swords.
Weep now, daughter wyrm.
Weep tears of stone.
Rivers of ash.
The eyes of Medusa rust away.
Your whore mother shall encrust no more men with her onyx embrace.
(But do not all heroes seek immortality?)