I am the son of Thor.
The blood of Odysseus runs in my veins.
I breathe thunder.
My heart is the ocean.

Do you think I am the son of Cain
To trade my inheritance for your bowl of soup,
For your shiny things that vibrate and spin,
For your **** and violence,
For your ***** pills and swimsuit models?
I will close my eyes to your neon lights.
I will hold my breath against your sweet poison.
I will close my ears to your siren call.

I will dive below the cluttered surface of my consciousness.
I will seek in the darkness and find the spark of the sacred feminine
where she slumbers in the cold stone stillness,
Lightning will surge through my nerves
and I will explode into flame.

Your filth will rise from me like smoke,
Your carnal lies will fall away like ash,
I will smash your idols like twisted mirrors,
And you will remember god.

Is
poetry
simply
ink
splattered
fantasies
solely
of
our
imagination
and
dreams?