My mortality is tight, but my morals are loose. So I continue, all the jerky starts and stops. The smooth grooves of memory Never fail to elicit some spark in me. I run my tongue over memory’s skin. Recoiling, I evade her Circe snare – all saccharine seduction and bittersweet touch. Paradox Has no place in her rosy bed of thorns. She plunges into a climax. Squeals like a swine, lies That she would free him. Her ploys freeze into a running paralysis. No longer can she meander, All sinuous curves and honeyed wax, rising from the ashen thorns. The Lotus Eaters remember How to forget. Penelope remembers she must not forget. Odysseus pretends to forget. Returning After two decades to Ithaca he leaps into his oaken bed, only to discover rootlessness. Hah. Paradox.
Lisabelle Tan Min, “The Plain Paradox by Complex Jane // (Dys)form(a)tional - A Sestina”
