Medusa’s OnlyFans Page

Ancient's warnings
could only guess what
fathoms her tales would shed.

Oh, they may have thought "snakes!"
Because why not? Everything frightening is a serpent
waiting to be disturbed

in the disaster of cavernous ruins
at night,
but it does a bit remind

of curious tongues
tasting at wind
for tiny thrills and nourishment,

after half the world starves
staring through a screen.

Yet the scales were never hers
and not one body volts to marble.

It is gradual as granules in an
hourglass that rotates.
Granted she is that amazing.

At one-sight instead
onlookers freeze from base ambitions
placid as meat.

Left in the sun they dry paralyzed
to parched thin bone
beneath hide.

Flesh-flakes like
papier-maché crumble
away languidly

the ways people must when they crumble
to study any art into oblivion—

until ashen dirt so dry
even command of three oceans
could not seize it,
nor wisdom vanquish, self-obliterates.

And in a solstice or so
we are each one

ghost
from summit to abyss,

one leviathan pallid sheet draped
over many seas in a skin of grit, debris

thick as buoyant deteriorating plastics.
So we appear serpentine

writhing on a head
which is her head.

Jeremy Casabella teaches Composition and Literature throughout the San Joaquin Valley and writes poetry, short stories, and pwoermds. A 2019 Omnidawn Broadside Contest finalist, his poems appear most recently in Vinyl, The American Journal of Poetry, GNU, Right Hand Pointing, and Rabid Oak. His pwoermding is featured in the anthology The Wisdoms of the Universes in a Single String of Letters from Xexoxial Editions, and on Twitter: @JCasabella1