33 Lines for a Saturday in February

Put away your loathsome eyes

unless you want everyone
to see you; catch you staring.

Have another cup of coffee
before you brave the winter blast,
just one more to warm your hands.

The river is frozen and
there’s no going on that way.
Turn around; try another path.

It’s not the right-handed hand
nor again the left
that so often offends,
but the eye, the eye
that won’t stop staring
that needs gouged away.

The Dead Sea Scrolls
are of no help to you here,
those Essenes, they knew nothing.

Nero’s prowling the courts
in lion skins again tonight
seeking whom he may devour.

The Apocalypse of Peter
and the pot-luck of Paul
never made the final cut.

This Chimera dream has
reached its gruesome end;
the Gorgon will soon be put to rest.

She wouldn’t want you anyway,
and the one who warms your bed
would throw you over, leave you cold.

So cross the bridge carefully,
one foot in front of the other.
The river below is frozen winter white.

(2008)

I wrote this poem a few years ago... but was reminded of it today.   I drove today through some of the same cold grey fog, over the same frozen river that began to inspire this poem four years ago but it was all so different.  The scenery was the same (or very similar) but I was different in it.