xii; a rain dance

...Unlike Prometheus,
I do not need a vulture to rip out my liver
as penance for knowledge.

I cut it out daily,
through force of will,
and devour it -
a Jupiter sacrificing her eye
to the mad tree,
defiant;

{seized and seething through
the shucking of salted lungs,
as self or
not at all}

...I writhe in my erotic landscape;
the knowledge borne of elemental excavation; to understand
the distance that remained undefined
was a function of time, not space.

The howling I heard in those mortal moments
was myself - fully natured.
Fully matured,
thrown backwards as a beacon of strength
to a waif ready to sacrifice beauty for survival....

Who is, even now,
interpreting the wind as the grammar of her solitude.