ZEUS GETS A HAIR-CUT

Well, let me start this by saying, “Fuck you all!”
You think scattering my thick, black curls will make me small, leave me a scalded mountain in my bed-sheet, as fit for the morgue as the barber?
It means nothing less than nothing to me. You're all so desperate nowadays to bring low
that which confounds your careful rooms, your four even corners.

Yeah, well, I held court in a hall with ten times
that many sides, while I set fire to drunken ingrates,
laid diagnose to a nation of infected throats.
Fuck the climate control! I want the fever
that's coming to me.

I still dream of maidens by above-ground pools.
I dug into them as a worm through rotted wood.
You think I'm ashamed of that? My hump
showing white beneath star-light younger than I am?
I've put myself through a lot worse just for a little contact.
Never mind you would burn in a second
from the glory of my open chest.

All I wanted was your dust, your cast-offs,
your incidental sweat, an eye-drop to see my reflection in.
But you, the dry ones, so sure of your counting, your medicine;
One lock, two, the whole mane come tumbling.
Who's to say I didn't want it this way?
That your slow dissection is not itself a kind of worship?