I feel painted.
Red and orange.
I can't leave this pose,
if I did,
the horns and tail painted around me
would be out of place, hanging in mid-air.
And the cloven hooves,
they are somehow less comfortable than stilettos.

Yes I am the bad guy,
but you look to me,
day after day,
to be given the bad guy perspective.
Knowledge fully within your grasp,
but not within your capacity to articulate.
I write the scripts, I watch the play,
bored as an audience.

Never the Hero.
Never the Maiden Fair.
Hesitant to meddle,
more curious than a cat,
I wait, breath bated.
Wait for the next saga,
the next stanza in my Homerian epic.
Waiting for Calypso's return.