Bastet once sat atop my solar plexus,
kneading forth words in spite of heartfelt warnings.
I think I spoke aloud but cannot recall;
there was a giant cat pressing on my chest.
Some time after, a peculiar midnight dream:
dark viscous arteries of suffering, rushing
beneath the surface of the world,
taking and sucking and remaking lives.
I awoke and promptly ate a Lotus, for its fruit
is well known to erase all human longings.
Alas, when a thorn caught my tongue, what
I spit out were the remains of a garden rose.
And yet, and yet, I walked into that cave
determined to seduce a wily Prometheus.
Surely together we could make a fire bright enough
to prove the puppet masters wrong.
I found him creating a mosaic of vast proportion,
using tesserae of human bone and teeth, sealing
them with the wax of one tired, dim candle flame.
I left him undisturbed to finish his masterpiece.