Dark Woman and the Algae Muse

A dark tale

Of a dark woman

Exposed by vanity’s looking glass.

Hair of sun rays, looking glass eyes.

She sees herself seeing herself

Seeing herself an infinitude of times.

Muse by the river, won’t you come to me?

Muse by the river, sticking to the grass,

Muse by the river, made of algae.

Sand in your green hair

Pours down as you rise

With a groan and black birds

Pour out from between your

Liver-colored lips.

Dark woman in the mirror,

Expecting deliverance.

Bang bang! A knocking

On the front door.

Dark woman floats like an octopus

Down the stairs.

She opens the door, the algae-muse

Is sopping wet.

“Won’t you come in?” she says. “There is tea.”

The poet is laughing, hysterically.

All of it transcribed by his fountain pen,

The poet is laughing at this creation.

Then the moon, too, starts to laugh

Its low guttural laugh, mist rising From its silver lips.

The stars start to titter, too.

The very ground shakes with laughter.

In the garden, the roses bloom.

The wind runs through, shaking

With laughter.

Meanwhile, the dark woman

And the algae-muse are sipping tea,

Oblivious to all except

The bob and weave of a candle flame.

When the poet stops laughing,

He wonders, am I going insane?