I am made
of microscopic gods—
of quantum crowds
who stormed this
Olympus,
whose courage
each day gives new birth
to my prowess
and whose truth
is the grandeur of familial
resemblance—
wherefore this need
to equivocate,
to cling—
to come clean
on an incommensurate swarm
of behaviors—
to get up close
to the screen and
just scream?
