They said, go on in;
There IS a place for you there,
a deep inside
where you can lose yourself,
peregrinate through an unknown land,
landscapes of sudden twists and whirlybird turns

As if this dream were the result
of a drug purportedly consumed, systemically absorbed,
given to provide lucid, out of body experiences,
enhancements of the memorable;
Like the moly-plant that Odysseus fed
surreptitiously to his beswined compatriots,
and, miracle of miracles, transformed them,
restored them once more to human form.

What they tell me
is that the unexpected always happens,
that I may, one day, encounter
that new, acceptable me, in the mirrors
I had previously shunned,
the shattered pieces of my past
made whole again.
Who does not wish to shine like the sun,
fly through the sky like Apollo and his horses?
What do I know of such things,
I, the allele, the mutant, the metamorph.

Seven youths, and seven maidens.
They tell me
I shall have my desires fulfilled,
my needs alleviated. Whatever their perversity.
Yet all I want is to understand
the meaning of my existence.