Taking good luck as commonly imagined, causeless chance
I have no right to think I cheated,
I am not sorry,
I
stole my peace, as Prometheus, is accused of thieving fire,
and hope, as you must know,
if I got that whole message, as I watched the story
of the liver, reforming after dark,

who has the curious hunger pulling songs from me ?

Prometheus, fore thought foregone concluded known,

Percy Jackson version,
might work,
the idea behind the whole truth that allows such tales,
this initial touch of let
letting go
lives in many cultures,
many class the myths as messianic, promising a hero,
at a certain point
where hope appears to have substance,
-confident upright, balanced double minding-
steady, gait,
slow run, go on and on and on,
knowing truth
personally, like a you, who has what it takes
to win
that once,
when winning really counts, is this true or false, cut
? bing ware the con cise
edge of awareness
deep
dived down, Dives, lives. A drip, blot of ink
for ever thought
a jot,
a blind spot, through which the underling surface,
seems set to begin as story flows
ink to point to let
letter
structure- then structure-less, here, then there
actual every where at once,
central point
any given thought
can come from any former point that used it in a story,
once upon

exactly my point you know how any story starts,
there is a point

begin… and it never ends, until the flesh fails to reboot.