Shards, and: Last Call (For Dizzy G)

Shards

a kore holding a dove at her breast
a landscape thronged by well-to-do expatriates
a naked rider wearing a wreath of oak or wild celery leaves

an apotropaic character about our boy
an apple for the goddess

from double volutes sprout robust anthemions to crown the desecrated graves

herms erected at the crossroads

in a market where zucchinis are sold with their flowers still attached
in the so-called dexiosis where the dead are shown shaking hands

luxury's disaster zone

no longer up for the challenge that love entailed

the miasma of the dead an offense to this sacred precinct
the pronounced ithyphallic feature (broken off) pointing to its cultic character
the town built up harborside around a crusader castle

Last Call (For Dizzy G)

if you don't yet thirst

for the sweat beading
on his lip    darling

you've already
missed it    what's seen
is gone    the pennant

lost    pent-up rage spent

on pleasure's idle
dregs storming a stage

where the matinee

idol lingered    faceless
fans jitterbugging

the aisles    dreams

fired through the mind's
electric grid    trains

of thought uncoupling

our truest loves
never    contracted

for exacted labors

however devoted
or disturbed    drink

into the far-off

zenith    uncontested
scat loading down

your money bags

left at some hotel
you've never checked

into    your father's

famous fudge    packed
in Christmas tins

demanding nothing

less    than freedom
from the tyranny

of his unsung chords