New Fables
Devious women with wonderful smiles,
individually crafted by mysterious artisans 

who have supplied them with ambiguous artifacts as well.
I myself hold a hand-crafted spear;
it rings against the clear quartz and stimulates the brain
with tinkling, transcendent noises;
while the carnelian helps my kidneys (on occasion in the nick of time),
and infusions of onyx
strengthen the skeletal outline
for when the teeth of the predator clamp down . . .

but let's set aside ruminations on mortal adversity,
for I have assumed the form of a mythic bird,
which has infuriated my designated consort, an earth-bound divinity,
and she inundates the tale with plagues, improbabilities,
and endless cross-referencing,
to the point where no one will read it;
and even the visage of the Supreme Redactor darkens in perplexity
as he slowly crumples my account into oblivion . . .

but the malachite neckpiece repels the disappointment
and luminescent whisperings inspire the feet to move on.
In reality the room remains dark.
The current divinity opens her eyes
and within a minute or so
we are gone for an hour or so,
moistened with sunlight from the abyss.

The East Village Poetry Web
Tony Towle