Story Time: post-graduated tales of heroism and WHOA

by heytherewildflower

were men hired by kings
or sired by kings, but not kings

one of them called Dedalus
built the labyrinth which housed
the horned thing, devil in detail,
mother who fucked a bull.

but Dedalus was tricked himself. stuck
inside his creation with the man eater, and shame.
a slave to dumb king golden touch. which was not
such a clever predicament for our boy.

of course, clever boy eventually scraped up a brilliant
escape from the prison that was his own clever
puzzle. he made two nice sets of flying wings. he flew out!
turns out they weren’t so perfect after all.


another clever boy, mythically called Theseus,
wasn’t a prince exactly til’ a mermaid blurted a bit
of a kept secret, identity his mother hid from him.

inspired by new knowledge of himself,
Theseus sought answers, the unknown
perpetrator, purportedly some king. mad hunt for home:
treasure hunt for mad spot: solving for factor X:
Dial F
for Father.

after not so long reunited with the F figure,
clever boy volunteered for sacrifice. it was ritual, and his duty, to die
for his father’s country.

he got on board it, boated toward it, got to it,
ditched his party, seduced the sister of the cretin cannibal,
and escaped. life of the shrieking rescue party.
duty done, he scrammed, set sail, forgetting the wicked sister
who loved him furiously, forgetting

those things, his father, the king, had said about flags:
white means alive and black means dead. means loss of life or something lacking,
trip down the river styx, past memory lane (they say dying makes life flash before
your eyes shut forever.)

but excited to recall the tale, our hero ran through the halls
of his recovered home, discovering Father warm and dead.

being both dutiful and clever, Theseus took his seat
atop the mighty throne of father who art not in heaven,
having hanged by skin of his teeth.

all hate king.

lonely hunter tasting
what heart ripped from hot kill. half breath’s ragged noise
closer than love, closest, in the dark, alone


When I think back to this summer, all I can really think of is some mad spastic manic insane grasping at FUN TIMEZ, but more so: THE MOST VULNERABLE AND SCARED AND AFRAID AND INSECURE AND WACKED OUT I HAVE EVER BEEN IN MY ENTIRE LIFE. and that is a motherfucking statement for the motherfucking century.

I wrote the poem posted above in the beginning of the summer. It is just ONE PART in a 10 piece series of crazy.

Thank you to everybody who took care of me in my time of NUTS


u kno who u r