Medusa, Caravaggio

Mangled skirmish, of bespeckled olive-green

serpents.

Their sinuous anarchy runs cold upon her

skull.

Caravaggio, you immortalized the b***h,

immured her, hermetically sealed her within

that shield.

Her reflection was at once the face she

never saw, stoned she, then beheaded.

I notice you've even painted the shield the

color of her serpentine locks.

Serpents registering her ontological shock--

rententive, entwining, dangling in an odd

curl here and there.

Blood spurting from her almost indescernible 

neck, as if to draw a passable neck of blood,

almost like rays of blood, Christ's pierced side.

Her eyes seem so determined to chisel their

way out of stone, reconnect her head to her

body.

Her face is stunning, an excruciating ferocity

bulking stiff, slightly opened mouth about to...

explode out of her eyes.

Eyes hissing downward, sideways--there in the

pitch black glint of them...a primordial drama

to be continued.

Konstantinos Mark