A/N: Mythologic poem from my Techniques of Poetry class back in 2015.

Torch Against Wall


Limbo with ten cents less than needed to cross Styx's high tide;

Charon thinks me shameful.


Dante did not warn me about this,

did not note the fumes coursing bodies inside,

_Only the stench exterior.

_Terror does have an odor, doesn't it.


An hourglass of eyeballs and

a permanent pen.

Minos, Rhadamanthus, and Aeacus at a plastic table.

I overturn the hourglass,

but Minos still sees.

A/N: I always really loved this poem (as did my professor, esteemed poet Dana Levin - y'know, not to brag) but alas, it's proved too niche for formal publication :(