Presentation to the Gorgon

This is what the song should have looked like.

Oh dear, is it really my turn. You’re sure you don’t want to go instead of me? My voice, an elephant’s trumpet in the shower, is reduced to a mouse’s squeak when I’m put in front of a live audience. Oh well, for better or worse here I go:

in the
shadows of
the sallows a
sibilant hiss
of susurration
sings sweet
songs of silken
strands
into my
dreaming.
The sages'
sacerdotal
voices salute
the saffron
sunrise
strumming
sitars
in a symphony
of sound
while scrawny
satyrs swirl
and sprinkle
silica shards
into the stream.
Seers listen to
the scratching of
sepia scarabs
in the sand-
filled skulls
and instruct
the scribes.
I swoon in
scintillating
salivation of
slaves serving
serous sherbet
in scallop shells
and before
my eyes
the shrouded
shades
shuffle,
silhouettes,
in the shadows.
I will sleep
again.