With Due Respect To Thor

 The dog has shrunk between the brake and clutch.

His shaking shakes a two-ton truck.
 From a God

so furious, he cannot hide his hide.
 Outside,
in the world at large, black hours are being

pearled and shafted.
 A tree stands out
spectacularly branched; the mind's eye

grows alert.
 This thing can hurt.

It had us once, it's having volts

of big idea again—about
thirteen a minute.
 Do we need

to know more? Are we sure?
Just wait—a brain this insecure

may need another bolt be driven in it.

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