and forced me to think.
The apple was more human there than here,
but it took a long time for the blinding
golden rind to mellow.
How vulnerable the horseshoe crabs
dredging the bottom like flat-irons
in their antique armor,
with their sword grass black bone tails,
made for a child to grab
and throw strangling ashore!
Oh Florence, Florence, patroness
of the lovely tyrannicides
Where the tower of the Old Palace
pierces the sky
like a hypodermic needle,
Perseus, David and Judith,
lords and ladies of the Blood,
Greek derni-gods of the Cross,
rise sword in hand
above the unshaven,
formless decapitation
of the monsters, tubs of
guts,
mortifying chunks for the pack.
Pity the monsters!
Pity the monsters!
Perhaps, one always took the wrong side–
Ah, to have known, to have loved
too many Davids and Judiths!
My heart bleeds black blood for the monster.
I have seen the Gorgon.
The erotic terror
of her helpless, big bosomed body
lay like slop.
Wall-eyed, staring the despot to stone,
her severed head swung
like a lantern in the victor's hand.
