I attack the paper with black
Slashes that
Spiral down like the
Whirlpool of axes that I
Fell through as my
Alter ego Medusa
Escaping hell
Masquerading as heaven—the
Sick joke of the cosmos
The whirlwind of axes
Chopped me up as
Medusa
Leaving me in
Pieces, in pieces like the Italian
Futurist Umberto Boccioni’s
Painting where
Splintering shards ooze,
Bounce about in
Tones of blue, an
Alienated chord, a
Melancholy staccato
Heard underwater, its
Crash and boom muffled.
Blue explosion frozen,
Frozen in exploding,
Frozen in pieces
As Medusa, I
Regenerated my
Cut flesh my
Dead cells I
Reformed myself around
Broken glass—its
Jagged edges part of my
Body resilient,
Stronger than the
Sharp reminders of
That which cut me to pieces.
As Medusa I’m a
Creature more
Fluid than solid. I
Glory in the
Snakes living
Undulating
Writhing in my
Bloodstreams,
Coiled snakes
Ready to
Burst out of my
Skin to
Protect me
Whenever I feel
Threatened.
