Knee-deep in gray morass,
consuming us, muting skin deep,
outward, to a distant horizon,
where fat gods sit and laugh
in their plush leather seats,
mocking us as we trudge along,
daily, aimless in this mire.
Even wing-footed Hermes
trapped, powerless, turned
mortal, forced to work a desk
job with suit and tie, delivering
calculated speeches via electric wires.
3 comments:
Inspired by Cape and the ruminations of one C. Andrews.
Dude,
I love this. I am simultaneously glad and depressed that my poetry has had an effect on you.
I also like how you so easily incorporate classical characters/themes. When I try it seems so forced.
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