My Prayer to Apollo

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Father of bow and of arrow
grandfather of M16A1
standing there on your god box
looking away when your eyes
should've been lifting the gathered crowd
to your knees to your lap to your height
but now can you feel the rope tightening
around your arms, waist, ankles, and feet?

Your gunmetal bow and blackened lyre
your granite hair and coke-black fire
in your matte black Fleetwood Cadillac
you, the one time Standard of the World,
you refuse to recognize that your
now followers believe they emulate your
style and rapid-fire upon your prey
those who did dare to tie weeds
upon their brows and those who ground
your golden precipice to grist and steamrolled
it beneath asphalt as compacted concrete.

Oh criterion man, Oh precedent man
wearing now a counterfeit crown
come down come down.

—after John Keats

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