Leda and the Swan- A story of Twins

Oh ugly duck
Black feathered

Placid stir of lake

A cutting row
of feathers
only what a brush can pull

from reflected clouds
pillowing a comforted down

against waters to trumpet

the storm of judgements

that beauty may bring against the

breaths of desire



and rage
all for the sake of
a young shepherd’s unknowing

Double the pain of birth

and mark the cross of flight

across seas
across nights
across land

and direct this human plight

the tripled wisdom of womanhood
scorns the hero’s journey

as all fails in love and bondage

A simple choice

as Paris picked the beholden

Or did the sky?

As it landed on stilled shores
in foamed peaked ebullience
rushing to land at another reflection
a woman’s hand dipping in enjoyment

Unlike a fetus in the womb
a chick in a shell
breathes through the porous calcium
of lain hardened placenta

the diaphanous membrane is nothing but
a brittle mineral soon to shatter with the nudge of a beak

our deepest connections are these
such as tendons latch bone and cartilage

{Achilles did die at the heel
A mother’s hand
holding the dear child at the edge
bathing the small one in the river

But nothing set the wheel at the hub of this drama
than this double set

Clytemnestra and Hellen

and the two horse twins}

Like a bird flying into a window
Her fate was sealed

The clarity of desire revealed the glass house
its abode.

Two twins were born
and as birth made them so did their fates seal
Male and Female

Betrothed to war

War beseeching desire
War and its governance

Held and (unheld)

With just a glance the greatest of minds can falter
Beauty is just that

An uncaptured awe

of a tree

a blossom

a pear

a peach

The seed of an unfaltering eye

that won’t quit
until ownership

or at least to know

Divine and Human

How did these twins exchange their moments in their bond
Their true paternity questioned with each tale

As heights in beauty
and lengths in hunt

Where caught
In the spectacle

As if fated by the beholden

Placed on the porcelain dais


Exchanged their meetings on the cross

The swan
placed on the midnight sky

Half dead half mortal
trading places

meeting at an axis

The hub of a wheel

Horse twins
Pear tree

Brute blood of air

St elmo’s fire

Fusion of loved and beloved

the comrades
the sisters



How quick

ON E dge

to push

wrist out flailing hands


its friday

with no abandon

Qian- Surprise

The thing about lightning

It must hit the darkest spot

to be the brightest

The separation amidst the dust clouds and that of vapor

charges a quickened parting

In the rapidity of excitement

Poles are stripped

and a dance of heat


a black body radiation

A lead step
pulls down the insulated

Air between air
between matter
between liquid
between solid

Liken to Qi

An auspicious sign


You were at the bottom of the box

Beasts and Furies
All came before you

All Smoke and Mirrors

It took days for the dust to settle
from the mighty rampage

I was torn asunder

Why did you give this to me?

Cruelty has its thorny mercy.

There were many
There are many

Same words different burdens
different lives
different cultures

Out of one the many

Who would have known it would be so dark
Who would have known it would stay so dark

Its just a box

A container to hold

I could just hold it in my hand as a souvenir

A sense of ownership

To have and to hold

To display on my shelf, on my counter, or just to it carry around with me to remember you.

OH but not to open it?

How dare you?

And just to rely on good faith that it should be kept just as such?

Did you think I could keep dusting it? Did you think I could just say “Oh for me? hee hee, how nice, you shouldn’t have.’

How dare you!

With each longing day of life, the immobile presence can only call
very such so to the core of my being

How dare you not open it?

It was once said on a bus stop from the village idiot to the harlot in a public square

“You are naked!” a voice whispered
“Those are bugs!” another voice said

“DEMONS!” a shout clamoured

Smoke and mirrors.

The hurricane struck.

Few survived with their hearts intact

People lost their homes
People died in planes
People bombed nations

In all of this the emptiness of the box remains as I let you go…

Good bye little hope
Good bye……

As above so below

With exact decimal
Why bother with bad luck?
The clean hand can easily wave

And gather a sodden path
The other can cut grain

The tool to count another walk

The lights of our eyes
Brighten the shaded days
With the sorrowed tomorrows
Lit on the measure

Of sketched footsteps
Outlined left
And right
With graphite and titanium

Silver and obsidian would have been my choice

History does play its tricks
As aughts and n’aughts
Double the aught

A knot

The hinge of a gut chance

To look up or down



Two moons
One young and one not yet born

on the steeps of hope

to dream the dreams of promise

One’s built on civilizations now gone

Born and unborn

The friend

in deed

United together

With the unceasing breath of becoming

un born

born again


Kingdoms come



Where do you say

Majestic Surprise!

Many Moons
Many Suns

All gone.


the Joy

all becomes the obligation

of Love


say Honor
say Peace

and hold your banner high!

Spirit of the Mountain prt 8