how long must i

[grettas]

Zeus is fisting my lung to the tempo of my breath, really pounding it in, ripping it out, dry bruises, my alveoli like grapes purple and black and bursting to poison me inside, the fists of Zeus, the tender feet of the muses, their alabaster capless knees, pistoning like snakes their legs flicker down into the barrel of my chest and stamp the wine, down down blackly.

I have lost a year. Two years. I can't remember. I am a barrel, I am full of whines and ghostly limbs thrashing me, haunted by the violence of ancient Grecians, who dreamed of Atlantis.