Kerberos

Whether Pan with his many voices would lurk those bards 
To meet the eager hell's dog; or the graceful Pasithea 
A better seducer—I yield not!

My strides will remain apace
Through the marsh-marsh of green sludge. My sight will set, 
Unstirred, despite you—the darkness-lit loving poetess 
Of the last hour—and with my back 
I will confront you.

My pen will be grasped firmly 
Between my knuckled fist, 
And through punches and blows I will make doors out of
The wall of silence—just so I could jest 
Freely at my name 
And my elongated shadow.

Dale Chou
2003-05-03