A Theistic Cyborg, Part II
Little gods inside my heart
where pumping blood is an art.
With a mind of their own
doth these gods call me home.
Little gods with golden hair and a quantum halo
perform their task with utmost care as if they were from Cairo.
Confined within a job to do
never resting, always true.
Little gods never skip a beat
yet one slips beneath his feet.
Oxygenating all my cells
Is he under the One God’s spell?
Then he squeezes up my aortic arch
and down through the arterial flow
struggling against the downward stream . . .
He flies out into the world, out my finger’s cut
and screams --
“What the . . .”
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