Ponce

1
pricked with the thorn of fable
sunk his feet deep into the swampy glades
of everlasting life

that this fount was real
was real by virtue of belief
who knows, some go simply to leave

we leave a strange track here
by this savage world we ride, explorers
like a twisted string of conquering myth

2
we are not men of science, we do not need to understand
the unknown world is green as sewn leaves
New Eden putrid as a metaphor mist risen
from the sodden soil, this fount of youth
the piss of naked godlings we amuse
when in the flesh

3
Don Juan Ponce, impotent
sets out to look for healing waters
in the Isle of Florida
and falls by potent poisoned barb
take heed.