styrofoam

snapping sparks
still burning in a throat of movement and smoke
causing solid blocks of ice to come crashing down
on globes warmed by a styrofoam cup
crumbling into sandstone
while the gods sentence our lives to sleeplessness
under clandestine flash and cement
forming man in images of slavish formulas
that carefully dissect the subconscious
in the standing still of water
where collection plates surrender
to a machine grace
heaving a sky full of metal over his shoulders
Prometheus stumbles
trying to breathe something
that can be sold for more sound bites
and medications