glass bodies 81 90

the spirit of Europa

I am a woman of pride. What I do, is pleasure-writing.
I don’t assign much to the wastepaper basket, much to the chagrin of my peers.
My feelings for him are the opposite of piracy-driven economics, they do not trickle down.
I do not define myself by sieging what’s left of masculinity this side of Europa.
Our ocean, dividing us, may have an earth-like chemical balance.
If my words are roots in the ground, our enemies seep through like soil fools.
I wish I had Cathy’s gift for possession, but I am not a haunting ghost in the wily, windy moors.
He had the skill to warp the mind and wield it against the vulgar will.
Nor could all the false and fatal zeal of the converts bring him down, new among the heavenly.
But I do now roam on the deep, salty liquid ocean behind this icy shell.
My Jovian moon has the raw and chemical energy in the right proportions.
He was one who through this middle earth should pass alone. And how he died.
He was sinduced by chemical reactions far deeper than Europa’s seafloor.
He was not my dream, nor I his master.
In another time, he was the oxygen and along with other oxidants he flowed from the surface,
for Europa is bathed in radiation from Jupiter.
Split ice molecules driven down into a cycle, we seek redemption.
My sister, Europa’s rocky neighbouring moon
is the most volcanically active woman in the solar system.
We are torn apart by the heat produced by all the stretching and squeezing effect of my father’s gravity.
My hydrothermal vents, my chaos terrain have no bearing on the eternal.
My geo-logical activity defies reason. Soon, I had to bury him.
My true father was Agenor, but I was abducted by Jupiter. He is such a bully.
My son is the bull-king. Many additional moons are scattered across the two-faced axe harbour.
The white lilies bear witness. My daughters spread as far as the land of ’Rus.
Until the next night, then; I shall return to this solar system,
hence many of my flower-daughters shall sing my name in the wind.

The amount of flexing of my ocean is an important indicator of my father’s muscles.
My love is cycled between the surface and the interior, and my tides are
hidden by the reddish material on the surface.
My magnetic signature is upon you, mortal.

The discovery of me and my sisters may be the only Medicean truth you can glimpse in this life. No, no; it won’t last forever. Your eyes speak to me, only.
Be warned.