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II. Ovidian Deposition

The bull or swan,

face rippling as it changes,

speaks, and for a long, long moment,

you can’t tell luck from disaster.

He recited his exploits and cutting-edge features,

all the arts and countries he was lord of.

He was wasted, I think. He walked on the table.

He said his voltage was so out of control.

He said, Relax, what you’re feeling is

the great experiences are generic:

when they happen to you they do not happen to you.

To take the god was to lose the man.

To take the man was to die of the god.

Either might turn me into stone.

I got up For a refill

from the Heliconian well,

and texted from the parking structure

Hadda go…