ELEKTRA

ELEKTRA

Is expressionist sunlight on the grave’s slanted mirror. 
Has become a complete index of numerous lies 
Myths, trembling sensuous poetical dreams 
Lank hair torn at its roots, hair is braided, tied back 
Arms, legs, torso tangled together and the knowledge 
Is somehow impaled on the rich white light
Of the moon’s succumbing glories, tenuous like egg white, 
Orange rind, wasted purposes, antinomies.
Elektra is dust in her Sophoclean splendour 
She mouths the word sister, sister, sister. 

SALOME 

Has been bitchslapped, wants to fuck the lifeless torso
Of John someone, who, let’s face it, is getting what 
He deserves. Dance Salome until rosy glowing light 
Fills your breasts, caresses your moist cunt. 
Then the head of John is conceived, delivered 
Into the hands of political Herods who know 
That blood, blood, blood drips and drips 
Down your ass, legs, splendidly petit breasts. 
Your dancing ecstatically because John is dead. 
The evil fucking woman hating liar is dead.