Half Drunk Muse Poetry

From the Archives...

Ariadne

In the beginning, it’s like
string, simple, winding
through the days like
the dark labyrinth of your bones.

It’s a pull like an ache,
point and counterpoint,
a hollow that moans
like open seas and minotaurs.

He comes nevertheless,
for what is anything
Without danger, without peril.
And you acquiesce, offer even—

the strangle of it tight
around your fingers,
the wearing in your limbs,
a friction that wants—

is always wanting, even
as you unravel to its
center, anchored
dark and wild as the wind.

Submitted by Kristy Bowen Published in All Poems 1999-2004

About HDM

Half Drunk Muse was one of the first poetry ezines. It was founded in 1999 and ceased publication in 2006.

Questions/comments? Email samiller@halfdrunkmuse.com.