The Golden Medusa

She, Papua jellyfish, drifts like

a bell of translucent silk,

trailing her ribbons of ruin

through waters of Indo-love.

.

She is alive without memory,

with malice, adrift of lost things,

with cathedrals of coiled hair,

pulled by Poseidon in rape.

.

Her shimmer rattles her

crown, a queen of darkness

in cursive patience, the

hungry need of a sailor to stone.

.

Too strange to hold when the

tide brings her close to surface

in the brine, still burning,

half-creature, half-divine.

.

You may try to behead her

in the sands of your putrefied

glass, but no symbol of evil

will ward off her power to last.