Trembling, you?
Telling me you will be "a humble bow"
to my "proud brutish arrow"?
You, the Helen of countless Trojans
who sacrificed their Cupid wings
in your cloud-thirsty fire?
Are you afraid for me
when you yell "Medusa I may be!"
and my flesh can face you
without becoming stone?
Why would I "slay the frigid snakes"
when I can move your hair
with the breath of my voice?
How would I not steal you
from this divine pedestal
where, scared of heights, you tremble?
Despite your lyric kicks and tears
what is the tragedy of human gods
without the comedy of human hands?












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