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Katherine Factor

Mycenae

 

My throat sends an alert -

The mushroom-picker has come.

 

Thirsty, he makes his pruning hook a divining rod

Shaking it all the way to the citadel.

 

The site a sight. A citation

Of the city’s ages & usages.

 

Beneath, my subterranean spring adores a discovery

For it to flush & flow once more. 

 

When Perseus confronts the mooing sisterhood

We hiss&moo. A pentatonic scale, the lowing

 

Of the cattle is our sound. We call the moon down

Relatedly Io. This type of plucking is conducive to his purse.

 

Depending on the substrate, the matter & habit

Determine how much bloodletting will ensue.

 

The lions indicate a femaleness. A foreign name

Refounds the town:  Mystae, even. Mykes in Greek.

 

Mukānai, Mykenes, My keys. Willingly

I let go of my head. I have already forgiven

 

The man who faltered, fulfilling his oracle

He who let the cap fall off his shady bed.

 

Visions of the city all around him.

His thirst a replacement for wonder.

 

 

Beating the Bounds

 

we can do It any time of year

whenever the dance–construct instructs

 

one way: Februara = the month of purification

your houses swept and spelted

 

the women & fields slapped

with skins      with skins or hides

 

ghosts out of hiding     holes are opened

when the first flowers appear

 

perhaps later called/call Pan

Lupercal        cave     of the suckling she

 

wolf            me  & salt cakes       are offerings

loin clothes    youth-donned

 

obeying the wedding goddess

a riot older than the moon

 

media heims “middle winter”

ministers go nude

 

grass life in grass houses

we do it we trade clothes

 

slapped by goatskins     the earth

so nude    winter’s middle

 

goes nude   but after   you

cannot touch me    it is February

 

middle winter   month of marriage

felt ensnaring another burial

 

stood an altar in the cave -

goat coats fashioned into a thong   whip

 

before we bury it    we purify & check it through

thoroughly the infertile are struck

 

  

Diophilia

 

I do I do

 

live in

light time

 

thoughts

are consumed

by the mystery

 

the mute

can hear both

a distant noise

 

& a subsuming

declaration

 

an emerging

note

 

antibacterial

skin seal

from the canal

 

a car passing

an ant

a pastor in the night

 

Did they know

if they spent

 

any significant

mind sleeping

someone

 

would suspect

that the living

would convert

 

and don shirts

a pleated     and mtn’d

congnition

 

as incongrous

   as the pineal expulsion

when dreaming

 

a model

of the groin

in the folds

 

Did they plan

for the daywalkers

 

to discover

the keyhole

and stick fingers

in it, flicking

 

a switch

as we subsist

with the mini

 

veil behind it

 

We smushed

up on the access

holographic

of the idea itself

 

the battery in hand

gelid at first -

 

a bee

shaking its pollen

leg pouch

 

after it

entered the center

 

gently inserting

nectar into

an office

 

a swallow

makes mud

 

mutable

for the nest

by vibrating

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