The Killing Of Erato Poem by Barry Van Asten

Muse, thy fair and busty presence
Brought moonlight, madness and song;
Conjurations inspired wise words to mind
And invoked beauty, but you belong

In your world of mythology, not mine;
Come no more and trouble me not!
I do not care for your enchantment;
I do not want your alluring rot!

I am sick of your flowery love-words;
Sorceress, do not trouble me!
Go back to your sisters: Melpomene,
Urania, Thalia and Calliope,

Polyhymnia, Clio, Euterpe and
That haunting devil of dance - Terpsichore!
The old blush of youth has gone
And so has your hideous hold on me!

Still she came, she did not listen;
I pushed my pen firm in her eye;
I cut her heart out with my scissors
But still Erato did not die!

The brain slipped easy from the skull;
I tore her lungs out with my fingers;
The tongue was simple to remove
But still the muse of love-words lingers!

I cut her up into nine pieces;
Wiped my finger prints from the pen;
I left her body parts in bags:
She will not trouble me again!