through storm & volcano loads spitting
hot lava up from Gaia's gut & soaking city
in its prophesy; Medusa never told me about her heart  
wounded but not vanquished
by Prometheus' spear; now zombie-eyed
staring back at me as I patch the bleeding ****;
its only a blemish & she heals
as foretold by the divine oracle,
pinning my seashells to her chest
in her throne of precious stone
& clay molds itself into her silent handmaidens
as I as representative of her mystery school's priests
bow behind her toilet as she leans over
& utters prayers from her wise ***