NaPowrimo Day 5
Monsters in the Mundane
The monsters
i.
Kronos
at the ‘all you can eat buffet', eats little. His towering form cramps itself on the little plastic chairs. He is seven foot tall, but has the density of stone.
He tries to tell the other deities that his appetite has gone, and that
frankly, this kind of work do is wasted on him. His gut feels unpleasantly
heavy, as if it were loaded with rocks.
His son, who once unzipped his da's stomach -all that middle aged spread, the pale unsunned skin , is lording it at the head of the table, his talk curlicued with nymph and dryad.
Kronos stands, the rocks grind and spark and hurt. He pretends to smile. The smash of alabaster is terrible.
More godkids and even humans dance on
ii.
At the Erl King's magic show,
there is never an audience.
Parents are always disappointed
The Erl King is as permanent,
green and changing as the forest.
What he has taken will not be returned
Iii
with one decisive, punctuated
stamp to the down town area.
Her 70 foot form blurs and
smashes. She is giant yet fast.
Meanwhile the Kanye kaiju
erupts from the pearly ocean
to swallow New York, two bites.
These are arbitrary examples
and mean nothing important
save to show, how clumsy a metaphor-
the outsized overblown
monstrosity of celebrity.
Iv
your worries like staples
from a surrendered manuscript .
Later, in her power suit
she resembles April evening
as she tells you , in her publisher voice
this a bestseller. The book
is about life. You are so ordinary,
together you bury the gold.
V
My brother the chimera
at work, pouring the wine
to undiscerning customers
"I
never know how you stand it-
you have the
patience", I say,
"of a
saint".
His lion face
His scorpion replies
His vertical yellow eyes
His milk fur
A cool distant bird
Vi
extending his cosmic limbs
greatly into the cranny of the old fashioned lemonade bottle,
feels himself drawn in.
His bulk in a small confine. He has never felt so safe.
His colours change. Praise. Spectra and hue
and hyperchromatica.
Rare for a kitchen porter;
he makes us question the meanings of reality.
Vii
left my bed behind
and didn't warn the incomers
about the nightmares.
Sorry, and also to
the cauchemar's reaching hands,
lily and pleading
like a scared child
so hard to be
the one forgotten
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