the black eyes of Apollo: poem 2009

what can I say? when young and awestruck by the stories about the sun god, you wonder why no one else finds interest like yourself, with those who do still in a box, just a differently prepared and presented prison. now they've got all the gods locked away, Hermes alerting the others to hide their joints at the approach of a guard. and up in the sky, the construction paper sun they put there like some kind of sick joke fools most everyone, in whatever box they try to see out of, as night overtakes the land, threatening immutability with all but total success at faithful reception. poems here like this description: inspiration picking up loose threads and weaving a sweatshirt with a sun on it.