#pioneeringspirit
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Alpha
While thunder clapped for an encore,
we put on iron boots
and danced in puddles
that reflected the obsidian
of Raven's crick-craw chorus
between the ripples.
I splashed with rod in hand, and yelled,
"You are the hammer and anvil,
I am the lightning! I am the quickening!"
II
They came from the East.
The ground shook, and cracks spread
from the pounding of their hammer-steps.
Wisakedjaks fled from roosts now pitched askew
by fingers that brushed the tips of pines
with every swing of lumbering limbs.
Lofty mouths inhaled the clouds
and blew out smoke rings on the wind.
III
I charged across the ground—a bolt—towards
the nearest Cyclops.
Like a sparking pinball, I zig-zagged
up the giant's shins,
past his thighs, and higher still,
then struck him in the eye.
And we became one—euphoria!
Omega
The Wisakedjaks repaired their nests,
and have less space in the minds of those
who found a scapegoat for mythologies
preached in smoke-filled rooms
where followers choke on the want to be saved.
Words were curved into a staff
that false Hermes uses to shepherd his flock:
people who pocket gold coins for Charon,
having surrendered the kingdom within—dead, though their bodies continue to pulse with life.
May 13, 2018
May 13, 2018 at 7:31 PM UTC