Magdalen

The sun darkens /in lapsed conclusion/to pursue its’ savvy angles./ Her words couched, iindifferent,/ ardor ethos work/This riddle takes shape in smears./I reach into my pocket,/extract a worn picture,/stag carcass; antlers in deadlock,/images of innocent victims./This much you warned me:/my pledges come in ripples./I said, Athena Nike/you said, Winged Victory./Same words for/ a headless goddess who bears a sword./We didn’t smile.

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