"Ode to Eris, Goddess of Discord"

Now that you've been given a mini-planet
Fin'lly, of your own, will you go from Terra?
      Your laws are here carved out of granite;
   All of our wishes wear your tiara.

Maybe if us Earthlings could quit this scrimmage
Long enough to tell if another manner
      Of play might suit us more, we'd salvage
   Prizes to render the least a winner.

Leave us if you must with the golden apple:
Surely in our poverty something glitters
      Of dreams that don't require iron's grapnel,
   Smoky removal, and marching orders.

9/30/06


The Taint of Yellow.


Old song, new images.