Chicano Poet

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Lapithaen: of or relating to this poem

I was young like Lapithae
fighting the centaurs of your absence,

hair, muscles,
flicking eyes, muddy hoofs,

sky hanging down into the trees,
breathing in the genitals of gods,

bloody swords and shields
lay upon the purple grass,

the night had become a bubble,
its sharp edges plunging deep.

I was the young Lapithae,
fighting the centaurs of your love.


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