Gestated in the thigh, born twice, rose once
from the head of Zeus. I bit my way out,
through eight great plates, skull bones a catapult.
Indulge me, my heartstrings forged from harpsichords;
this is a myth I keep
rebuilding with dog’s teeth and concrete.
Solicit the backhoe,
dig timing with a slingshot.
Pick a solar system to sift. It’s not the same past
as my future; we’re making me a swarm of meteors,
a shield of shooting stars that want
electricity from another planet,
that distant arc of orbit, hung from scepters and spinning
all around. A profanation.
How can we come so close and not collide?
insulate! hide! retract!
the tigers have spoken
in a madness valaise