Daisy-like and dazzled
by the last ray of hope
Eurydice turned back
not from the underground
but the underworld.
She was alone and beaming.
Orpheus just decided to remain
down in the realm of darkness
dancing and playing the lute.
WORTHING, 1894
A cloudburst loomed over the Worthing seaside,
and he puffed curls of blue smoke
from his Parascho cigarette to the leaden sky.
Snazzy and just arrived from London,
jolly like a maypole. He clocked himself hearing
his own name—ghostly—from the pier:
Oscar! Oscar!
He believed himself seeing Ganymede
conjured up by the scented smoke.
The most beautiful effete ever, cupbearer of Gods.
A breeze of lust wafted through the green carnation
glowing on his lapel.
Though it was not his name that resonated
all over the sea, but the wind soughing
through a seagull's skeleton.
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