The salty Peloponnese flood
Of minerals and Trojan blood
Is in this oily, briny fruit,
Savored by Milton to salute
The poets of antiquity.
It is the flavor of the sea
And ink squirtings of cephalopods;
Mortality plucked from a god’s
Martini at the end of time,
When guilt squares up with every crime,
And joy has run its fi-nal course,
And nothing but divine remorse
Attends the last aperitif:
It is the very taste of grief.
YOU MIGHT ALSO LIKE
Here Comes Utopia
In the latest installment of the ongoing interview series with contributing editor Mark Bauerlein, Seth Barron joins…
Toward Ethical Populism
How should conservatism evolve in a post-Trump era? Donald Trump could well lose the House of Representatives…
The Iran Failure We Needed
Count me among those grateful that President Trump has struck a deal with the Iranian regime. Recent…
