HERO

The Hero loves music.
The Hero faces beauty / The Hero faces a monster
The Hero does a dance.

He could tell you all about his life
But it would mean doing you too hard
It would include a little bird with fur
Fur, not feathers
And he knows you will say: Your death would be a cool drink on a hot day

For so long things have not mattered
You came here as a dragon
Shaved, burned
An awful lot of trouble - but then you slipped your hand under the cool pillows
And a flower grew on that spot

The Hero staggers.
Falls off a cliff.
Hand pressed to his side.
The flowers are all red. Bursting into flames.
Consumed by the sea. That frightening thing.
You looked over. Expecting a miracle.
But your eyes were covered.

Divine nude / Dread shade
Give him his goat horns.
Mola Salsa / Ride him like a motorcycle

Instead of changing the sheets, you wore them over your head.
You said: I don’t like it in movies when people are sad.
His fingers pointing to the ground: Tuccia, when I dig in the garden I find ice chips.
Scales, not fur.
And that language was the kind of thing that hides in the back of the fireplace, where the flowers are all red.

The Hero climbs the highest heights
Your face is that of the cool night - veiled in seawater after a bad dream
Gorgons, Daimons, Lares, Sirens - a little bird sings a little song
Offering up garlands to the satin cliff’s sweet call