I.

Chained to the tick-tock

of the unrelenting, unwavering, unforgiving clock,

I slave away with vain hopes that

perhaps Time rewards vigilance;

an extra minute here, stolen seconds there,

I breathe Time in like oxygen

and exhale ambition, triumph, excellence–

Why am I always gasping for air?

In the name of Success. Amen.

​

Live as Tantalus died, thirst eternally unquenched, grappling with

the bounds of human possibility in glorious defiance of the

gods. Flout their carefully carved footpaths, step off a tightrope over

the cliffs, suffer under pain of death and revel in your

Fearlessness. Be your own slave driver—your own god—lest

someone else steal your role.

Time is precious, but a shattered clock means

Victory.

II.

They call me Little Miss Golden Girl,

I resent that.

Gold bends to the jeweler’s will,

its worth dependent on his skill,

they call it pretty; I call it

weak. Pure, perhaps,

and so easily soiled, the ever-present risk enough to drive me mad– in fact,

I let the devil borrow my soul as

I strive to become godlike.

Yet gold ichor flows through divine veins too,

deadly, invaluable,

exposed

at the hand of Diomedes.

Even gods can bleed.

​

In the name of Success. Amen.

​

Have some vision,

for christ’s sake—a god? Made of gold?

I could scream! Does no one

dream anymore, of strength

and of sacrifice?

You’ve got to give chase, ceaselessly,

To become a stainless-steel machine,

invulnerable,

unstoppable.

 

III.

i did everything

you asked of me!

sweat-turned-fuel,

veins like copper wiring attached

to gear-like organs,

and a silicon chip for a brain;

only that thin soft anemic film of surrounding skin still stubbornly—no, tremblingly—resists my

transformation

bruising like that forbidden fruit, SHATTERING like delicate porcelain after a fall

not at all like the protective metal shield i had imagined.

and i ache

every day

from the onslaught

of nonchalantly passing Seconds—

why didn’t you warn me?

i suppose i should’ve known

that my body is not a machine

but an empty ceramic vase

whose ornamental, life-giving flowers have wilted

for lack

of life-giving rainwater.

​

No, no, no!

Remember? Victory,

Success—

That was our deal,

nothing more.

​

Amen.