Modern Prometheus

I have invented my body,
the muscles, the sinews,
the sins within my tissues.

I construct each cell
each morning that I wake,
each amino acid
and bitten fingernail
placed just so.
A monumental task.

I hold my body in a trap,
it’s trapped, each cracked knuckle
like a billystick’s staccato tap
played along the steel bars
of my ribcage.

In triumph, I display it
for each stranger rushing by,
gesturing at each
carefully crafted gesture,
the bony ankle, the chewed
and bleeding lip.
What a beauty! I weep
with pride.

At night I set it free,
my engineering of will.
My body burns and pillages,
great heaps of fiery hair
heaved like molotov cocktails.
My skin ashes away.
       Even the blueprints burn.

In the morning,
I set to rebuilding

each swirl of a fingertip,
each thin and pointed bone,
my hands to start scratching out
the plans for a brand new me.

(Writer’s note: this was written in 2014 but still belongs in the ole portfolio)

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