When people declare that nothing is free,
They are often confused by my laughter-
Knowing not that they have conjured Troy’s gift
Or the seeds inside young Persephone.
It is something in the first dying leaves
Or buying drinks for dulcet girls in heels
That I identify with Jormungand-
He wraps around the vast earth we crawl on,
But to him it is the only normal size.
At Ragnarok he finds us pitiful
And yet he learns that monsters can be slain.
Rapine artifices in camouflage,
Eternal return hammered with lightning;
The ancients teach no wisdom, save that none
Can know the endings of their own short lives.
Even mistletoe has bloody vengeance.
Which triviality will I ignore?
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