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The Mist and the Fire of the Tortoise
Tartarchos, shell wet from Lethe, rises
Up from the mist up from the fire
No snap left in jaws
To challenge Ceberus upon leaving
The chains hold
Tartarchos, up above now, waits for moonrise
Up in the mist, orb of cold fire
A slow dance on the mountain
He teaches the vultures that spiral,
Waiting
Tartarchos, cold from darkness, visits
Bound man, bound in the mist for the gift of fire
I am Prometheus, chains rattle
Sit by the flames, warm your shell
The vultures come again
Tartarchos, hiding in armor, sees agony
Pain is a mist, pain is a fire
I am Prometheus, entrails spilled over the ground
Pity me, dark tortoise
The vultures come again
Tartarchos, wet with firegiver's blood
Sleeps, he's missed the meaning of this fire
Sleeps under Sol's blessed
Caresses, all afteroon waiting
For the moon
Tartarchos, silent tears flowing
Cries in the mist, that quenches the fire
Spins another drama to waiting night clouds
Tales of passing dead souls underground
Of jazz in corpse cafes
Tartarchos, that long-lived reptile
Sups in the mist, plays in the fire
Waits for an eternity of men to grieve
For their brief losses,
He tosses the dice again
Tartarchos, tired of the wind, returns
Back to the mist with angry, rough ire
He greets Dante, lost in his maze
The writer suffers in silence
Standing above his ice-bound sinners
Tartarchos, sitting to tea with Persephone
Whom he has missed so in the under fire,
He's sped his return home to mention her lover, lost
Glancing over shoulder,
And she weeps but a little
