The Cassandra Accounts

Scolding Apollo -

When she was a little girl,
a Trojan Horse was held
in her hand, carving
stiff hidden intentions.

That female anger became just another
constipated state of affairs,
stuffed full of the shit
she was forced to swallow.

Snakes curled up in temples, flicking
their infected tongues in innocent places.

And she had a rage to release
in the way legends are made;
Heaping pilefuls to be spoken of
in years to come.

Throwing it back in their faces,
prophesying to these mad
monkey men,these Cercopes
refused to see her dank doom.

You were hiding
in pretty myths back then...
when her truth pushed itself out.
Yeah You ! were just playing a God,

while she was screaming for one.

..................................................

Cassandra's Math -

It's an empty purse,
this vacant hole.
Why clutch it so closely ?
Pockets define their worth
by the contents within.

She handles the shaft
with the slink of snakeskin;
creative bookwork, as you gamble
on lining your wallet
with her suspected currency.

But there is a debt to pay here,
and it is a bottomless well
you're throwing your pennies into.
Offsetting the imbalances,
feeling overdrawn, you still don't believe

as she gives you the "butcher's bill".

..................................................

local -

She was...
a legendary catch in typic fathoms,
as petty heros surfaced, trolling refreshment stands
for a virgin, rainbow-new. Like fish
in the market they flopped their tales down
on how the "neighborhood"
was the center of the universe.
" Here fishy fishy "

She cheered...
for the home team then, in her parochial days.
But now she sees monsters around every angle,
and tosses out a few characters of her own.
Netting a god was easy.
When he pulls out is the hard part.

Cassandra's bobbing, a bright bauble chumming.
Holes dry up eventually,
and once-virgins are left to flounder.
She knows now the ocean is far larger
than she used to believe.
Geographics are hell
when everybody casts lines in a small town,
and they use better bait than you.

..................................................

Shrinking Cassandra's Anger -

Headjobs amuse, and yet annoy me
with their cutting deep a thinking feel,
implementing mythological scalpels.
Way to open all those reasons
with keys of unreasonable delusions,
diminishing anger into romantic sadness.

"Complex" are the complexities these days;
Greek in appearance, and heroines
are reduced onto mindful stages
where "Gods" direct human tragedy
with a clinical eye. You say she is lovely sorrow,

shrinking her rage into something
more managable, and appealing
to the audience. I say,
"Have you ever asked her
what is bringing the curtains down ?"

I suspect she would tell you
She's pissed ...
about the ropes you insist on binding with,
the newest twist of classical threads
to twine about her furies.

How can you expect her
to respect your characterizations,
when you have no respect for her character ?

..................................................

The Way of a Myth's Death -

A little longer Cassandra.
Myths die in the crackle of disbelief,
and Apollo's back will eventually snap
like dried up laurel leaves
under the foot of your "No".

In that after-life, after-him,
there is a quietus
to every living thing. You made
your exit past corpses,
never being able to convince them
they were finished.

Who would have imagined your end
as you euthanized a God
with treeing downfalls of
" I don't believe in you any more. " ?
And how did he repay
your merciful autumn ?

By leaving you
to the ruin of a faithless copse
just beyond the stone markings.
A little longer Cassandra.
The last of the mourners are falling away.
Release will crumble you soon.