In some former life
I must have stolen sacred fire
Or bedded the wife of the wrong Olympian
Maybe I boasted of superior archery skills
Or a fleetness of foot unrivaled
By winged beasts or anger-piqued deity
All this could explain why today
I wear a heavy wool black coat in the rain
In the park where we keep the graves
Layering dirt onto the
(so small) box housing a
(too young) body cancer-staggered into stillness
There is a reason behind all this
Advise the clergically-inclined
As well as those in need of a way to fall asleep
Perhaps then it’s true that centuries ago
I once spat malevolent venom
And am sentenced now to writhe on the ground
Well then I do and do again
Soaked in unspeakable sorrow and still
I will do it all again
Sing my fork-tongued songs towards you again
Lie with each of your marked lovers again
No smite in this life will deter me the next I promise
I will steal your fires all over again
And again and again until you return
To me what’s mine my son my baby boy
