An Idle King I am an idle king, a hollow king With the wind and sea at my back, Whose shade walks among the dread bones of Hades. My ghostly beard is long, long. Once in time I left my island home With a glut of fishermen, meat and libations; But bad fortune found us Amidst the seas And we were not ready. I do not exist, oh moon. I do not exist, oh little stars. And yet I have dreams In which I sing with a voice, But even that is small, dry and pale. I wait for the gods to co

Penelope Penelope weaves a boat of sweet songs while beneath her bibulous boozers scratch beer, play dice. “Declare his bones and suck mine,” they joke (not joking at all). Time turns to dreams and honey-thick shadows hush the spot where black snow falls in streams of light upon the head of the stranger standing in the archway.