I.
The crack in my ceiling idly opens to let Calypso’s
clueless hands reach for my body like a rag doll. 
I’m handled with care despite my bedrock mold. 
I am a new tragedy to tell. A new vase to seal together
with mortar that whispers perpetual tales of courage
and bravery on sacred lands. I remember a home
yet I do not remember such a place. The tender feeling
of Hephaestus's warmth and the sound of Poseidon's zealous
sea’s in the background. My memories replaced
by the sight of Helios tucking the world in with Hypnos
psychedelic blanket that covers me in dreamy colors. 

     II.
The sound of a motorcycle riff at 5 am submerses the air.
The neoteric smell of early morning gasoline 
leaves a lingering stench for an everlong 5 minutes, 
and the muffled sound still bounces off of the Amish hillside
along with the creaking of its inhabitants. The leaves rehearse

Worn primordial roots connect
To you (a child of the Earth)
To us, who perpetually neglect
To mend Earth's dwindling womb.

Now, the fresh spring bird,
Is pushed (with love) from her nest.
Left to make a ruby flower bed
Her everlasting tomb.