To Cupid and His Sisters by Aimee LaFon

When time moves slow, sleeping between
Every thought, as viscous and adhesive 

As pine pitch, I know that my 
Subconscious is preparing a 

Sacrifice - a pyre to inflame 
The panoply of ancestors

Residing between each synapse
In my soul. A full belly. A 

Shrouded sight. A squint In the skin. 
All evidence of homecoming. 

But who will recognize the hero
Troubled by visions of the future, 

One-eyed tired-resisas with a 
New texture, sunken senses left 

Right in the flood? Who will see the 
Contrast in the indifference? 

Who will know me when my one flaw
Is unpredictable? I will 

Be a traveler, unwilling-
ly pushed from plow and predestined 

To offend you. My metamor-
phosis intransient, but that’s 

All immaterial anyway. 

When I leave you, have the mercy
To light one final flame. Tell 

Argos I’ve never left. And give 
Me one last fight before I 

Surrender to my broken
Spine.