Platypus of Truth

October October is The return of the world To the way it should be. Days grow short -even this far south. Slate grey skies Agree With a head held together By Cymbalta And too much tobacco. The Sibyl of Cumae Writes her books on Autumn leaves, Carving strange signs In outlawed pumpkins. The Sphinx stands in my way, Corpses beneath her feet Glow strangely In the fading light. There are things in that smile That only heroes know, But I am no Oedipus, And there are questions Not worth answering. (Though one is free to ask.) Hippias stood upon the Shores of Athens Coughing out pieces of his Head. Is there a coffin in Egypt For my tooth? The Sphinx smiles on. I turn away.

A while ago, I posted about an imaginary pitch I composed with my study hall students called Bad Nun . It was a sort of swan song for a position I was leaving after six years. While working with Clip Art the other day, I decided to go back to one of my old concept pieces and dress it up a little. Just a reminder that while things can be misplaced, they are never really lost...