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When Minotaurs are in the making in aging wombs.
Their fathers believe in better labyrinths:
more elaborate, multi-tiered, fully interactive.
They like to keep the evidence of divine intervention
Contained within a land slipping from piety.

Ariadne is asking for a new dancing ground.
So Minos contemplates that
the flash of tanned royal thighs will be enough to keep
people from remembering that god was angry
when he gave them bulls, women, and Daedalus.

But young men and women still come from across the sea,
foreigners awed by an imperious kingdom without walls.
They never hear the bellows of unhappy minotaurs
because digitized labrys markings on the walls hold them enthralled
Through the long, hungry walk to the center.

Then a flash of perfect teeth under garish lights.
The Minotaur "Call me Asterion" of legend is smiling,
His belly dressed in red and rounded with his brothers' fat.
Nodding sadly at the babble for knowledge and new truths,
Three thousand years later, his wisdom is still death.

The conscious shape reality.

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The following comments are for "In New Crete"
by Furius

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