They say it was old man Solon
who heard about it
first, from some Egyptian
priest, gotta be
goin’ on fifty years now;
 

He said it was
far from here, past cool Hercs Pillar
out west, mad power from home
to Italy and Egypt.
 

The ground
with rich ores of orichalcum, silver
gold by rows of great timber, and fragrant
flowers to feed the packaderms.
 

Where Poseidon rode
his gold chariot with dolphins as company, protected
by a reef that kept no intruder
alive without map or flawless memory.
 

Everything was cool
fore a while, then the kids
began to get a little wild, talkin’
trash and big words like ‘realm of fact’
and ‘genuine history’, not long
after that they got there asses kicked
by the Athenians, before
the day of earthquakes
became the night of rain
with only the Egyptians left
to remember the palace at the center;
so extravagant to behold, before they went down
in the Atlantic, murky, cold
 

where the fish boogie, mermaids eat
oysters and lobsters feast on saliors brain
in the raw, on the ocean floor
that now is home.