Song of an Outcast
brilliance flooded through me.
i became a crossroads
in the quandaries of Athena.
the connections
carved me out like a trench.
there were parched scorpions
and rattlesnakes of thorns.
fossils flipped under my soles,
revealing the truths of the whys.
in that moment, i pitied the gods
and had stamina to wrestle
the most dangerous angels.
power lost its daring and thrill,
able and eager to forfeit the game.
it was all a sparse opiate, anyway,
what kept the players going.
omniscience needed its tools.
looking down,
through a bliss of nanoseconds,
at love and beauty,
at the way their flaws avoid all failure;
how their tears light moral candles,
these the only real light,
it became clear to me
that the rest was just the prestige:
assemblages of unfolding math,
or what was before, or after this,
those much darker, larger oceans
on either side.
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