framed in raw plasma
lock-step with everything
the elements laying a prismatic carpet
before my average human strides

all focus and all dissolution
the fission of every bodily atom
keenly felt
though poorly and wastefully channeled

radiant emissary of the hostile void

Son of No One

a firstborn gone missing
accounted for to God by any number of hollow-eyed goats
driven into the wilderness


provisional deity of all I survey
by the simple virtue of knowing and understanding
while managing to remain
unknown and misunderstood

making small talk with the four riders
having already hocked their hideous stallions
except for that belonging to Death, which I will steal for myself

and thunder, tilting and swaying,
on down to hell to extort the remainder of the world's ransom
from the devil himself

dare I say that I, too saw the eleven sheaves
of wheat
the sun, moon, and stars
in my dream?

no coat to show for it though; shit.


the step from sufficiency to omnipotence
is strangely small when you think of it

so I take a cue, in passive spite
from the late perpetrators of the Industrial Revolution
and impose "vertical integration" on my own existence
rather than that of others.

enemy and judge of circumstance!
doctor and all-too-successful experiment!
the suitcase, Gorbachev AND the bomb!
Casey Jones and his juggernaut of a speeding steel casket!

Tour de Force! Tour de Farce!

and very nearly complete - 

very nearly.