Olympian Roulette

James Long
Jan 5
1 min read

Away or, interred, the bellow of youth

So ready to spit fire into the night

All thunder and purpose and reckless

momentum

Took flight?

Now, longer in tooth I feel shorter of sight

Building fires to warm, a cigarette, a rite

"Lose your head to your hand

or to ghosts in the night."

Beg Prometheus to spare you a light

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