Medea

Husband, her heart
she will fracture
for you; for
she is faithful
even still.

Batter and burst
do your worst
crush everything
cruel
courageous.

She is only a
woman, a weak
and wanton
jug
to drink.

Husband, her tears
from home to here
will bulwark
break with
lamentation.

Ash not stone
she begins to
waver at their
sweet smiles
returned.

Medea we beg you
Medea we ask
you to hold your
poison behind
your mask.

But resolve
clabbers curdles and
spills her ill will;
napalm
soul ignited.

In motion
the world kilters
hurdy gurdy forward
machine
universal.

Come to me then,
little vessels of love
little pots of laughter
all things
good and gone.


Clay pots,
scattered like islands
on a red sea of trouble.
Intent
broken wide open.


These pots
will never hold water
again so why do you
gather the
pieces into your arms.