Narcissus Dumped My Muse
So young, naked, and so much the more pregnant,
at the bottom of the snicket I think,
a clever nymph, good at spelling in school,
playfully lifts lotus blooms from a spring,
hamadryads behind thin caravan walls
found dancing, and wishing around pylons.
Doris of the reservoir, fifty strong,
died of embarrassment, gained
a size and a half, thatís why they hide when
the bloodshot eyes of halflings, like myself,
will play penny whistles for swift favours.
Tantrums of women, broken and made real,
we call for archetypes, hearing Echo
getting the last word, again, always so.