My gift to the world is the stolen chariot fire of self-deconstruction.
Every day when the wax melts off my wings, I dig my own grave where I fall, paint a bullseye around it and walk away leaving it empty.
Every day I rise again from the boiling of my own kidney fat; reconstituted like a flash-frozen box of Icarian McNugget Phoenix, eagerly overfed on a meal of my own kind who are eagerly overfed on a meal of theirs.
Every day I have a compliment for Sisyphus in each of my two left hands as I endlessly and effortlessly kick my papier-mache boulder over an limitless field of relativist mole hills... almost without looking.
Every day, I shorten my own chain for effect while no one is looking.Then when they are looking, I yank on it hard, just for effect; I force-feed my own fattened liver to Zeus, who is still too embarassed by this outcome to abandon his poorly-conceived transformation into an enormous French goose.
Every day when the wax melts off my wings, I dig my own grave where I fall, paint a bullseye around it and walk away leaving it empty.
Every day I rise again from the boiling of my own kidney fat; reconstituted like a flash-frozen box of Icarian McNugget Phoenix, eagerly overfed on a meal of my own kind who are eagerly overfed on a meal of theirs.
Every day I have a compliment for Sisyphus in each of my two left hands as I endlessly and effortlessly kick my papier-mache boulder over an limitless field of relativist mole hills... almost without looking.
Every day, I shorten my own chain for effect while no one is looking.Then when they are looking, I yank on it hard, just for effect; I force-feed my own fattened liver to Zeus, who is still too embarassed by this outcome to abandon his poorly-conceived transformation into an enormous French goose.
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Boston
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