December 10th, 2011


Second Trojan poem


She was so proud and clever, but the curse
took cleverness away. Just keeping track
of when she was, and always going back
over the major bits. She would rehearse

her rape, her death, the horse, her father's death,
over and over. Get the order right
tick off each days events each wakeful night
each stomach upset, sneeze, shortness of breath

Knowing that she would know it rabbit fur
no help before they told her. Carved in stone
each second, and she'd witness them alone
except for all the other times of her

that saw them unbelieving. Her sole friend
the death that put recursions to an end.

Troy 3


She was the perfect weight to assay gold,
length's measure and the note at perfect pitch.
And if she felt compelled to play the bitch
at once to have hot loins and mind that's cold

to toy with nations and a lover's heart,
how else be free, how else to have a life
save slash her cheeks to tatters with a knife?
Gazed at, not heard. If she would sometimes start

to talk of her desire, they heard her voice
only as music stroking them to heat.
Paris massaged the small bones of her feet
and did not touch her flesh. He was her choice

because he saw her, not the face or hair.
Some myths say she was never really there.