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Greeks don’t fight like heroes. Heroes fight like Greeks.

                                                -- Winston Churchill


He carved a name on limb

now veiled of scarred yesterdays,

and blood

ribboned with steel spirals through

soulless hands of rock and sea


Death is velvet behind his eyes.


Muscles are whims,

graceful arched asymmetry

poised as lightening.


War is formed with his mouth,

Flattened shields—teeth—homage.

Battle moves

inside his abdomen.

Enslaved organs do as bid

and hurtle life through him.


Sifting winds

prostrate at feet of

demigod legacy.

Earth crumbles, subservient.


Let them come.

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