Black Sonnet: Asmodea

On Francisco Goya’s painting of the same name.

On one tip toe, Prometheus totters
Between plain and mountain to account and
Choose his judge. Asmodea explains his curse:
The choice before you ends in equally
Just punishments. On Caucasus they’ll lock
You up so you don’t fly down secretly
And market contraband; if you steal down
To men again they’ll shoot you with that loot
And, pale-faced, thank you with the steely sound
Of fire which, without check, you licensed out.
He, aged, replied, Don’t they know I tried
To help?
Asmodea: A gift without
Discretion grandsires destruction.
Belittled,
He bargained: How long can I poise middled?

Black Sonnet: The Fates

On Francisco Goya’s painting of the same name.

Clotho began, You unborn mortals want
To taste and hear, but I need sight. I’ll spark
Your fire in this doll, and your senses will start.
Lachesis then, And after? I remain
Your guard against the thorns along the way.
Sell me the eye, or endure undue pain.
Atropos, shears in hand, No, choose me. When
You eat but still hunger, you’ll pray the thread
Hasn’t been trimmed wrong or frayed at the end.
They squabbled as I circled back and gawked
At Achanes who, sighted, silent, chained,
Watched, listened, but wouldn’t interrupt them.
I shook, but couldn’t point a bended knee
To any finite or eternity.

Logan Davis grew up in Portland, Oregon where he first learned to love reading and writing poetry. He's currently pursuing an MFA in Creative Writing at Brigham Young University, and has work published in the Watershed Review and the Showbear Family Circus.