Titanomachia
--to The Sinister  Bulgarian Sorcerer
by Benjamin Norman Pierce

they were not entombed in  hollows below
were dismembered, their
and hides and organs
put to other uses: 
thighbones snapped at ends
                           to axle donkey-carts and calendars
                           hearts stretched hollow to bear dusty coins
                           of sentimental/ironic mint
                           to bear little charms of petty, resolute intent
hearts pressed to pills to turn the swerve
                           of urgent insomniac mills
                           to let the light-plain day roll through its' slyest affairs
hearts shlupped inside to purse poisons
                           towards a later expedient integrity
hearts pocketed inside to seek poisons
                           our hearts' algorithm could not avoid or abide
fingers dried and waxed to tooth the gears
                           of more secret clocks
                           than the seasons reveal
 
hides stretched across the face of every building
                           coating even glass with a memory of eternal dark
                           we have only lately locally illuminated
                           coating even stone with a sheen that promises flow
                           that augurs an evaporation back
                           a dry and total sky
                           when our principle of fundament is cracked
                           that augurs an endurance of the august air of royal tombs
                           for our archeologized latrines
                           and the marble chips of our civic schemes
                           shall thereby seem the tips of Mercurial pens
                           that platted seasons
                           and chemical periods
                           and axioms of  cutting ascent 
the cored-out skulls
                           bore the most intimate appropriation in the grommeting:
                           letting us nakedly sew on the lost limbs of Titans
                           where there was not even prosthetic socketing for their former function
                           letting us scoop ourselves into shattered forms of forgotten fit
                           like the ferment enters the wine that enters the skull-top we drank to this: 

that we could suck lightning into our heads
that sought to burn us for our Titanic additions
that sought to glowstrike
our ocean of our neurotides
clean of the paracarcinomic leviathans we cultured there:
even as we had summoned that immaculate lightning down to first shrivel
the Titans we next quilted to our skins:
thus we knew we could acquire the lightning
even as we acquired what it had burned 
or those Titans we  buried
were dismembered more finely by our native soil;
made confiscate to the common-wealth of soil
have been made particulate in their complicity in our trees,
our stores of next years seeds
and they are fragmented in our bones, these Titans:
and rendered so complicit that if we vomited them out
or sprouted them from our foreheads,
yet we would be mingled with them as every cigarette ever smoked:
coiled more intimately than breath in their lungs