Thor, the Norse God of Thunder, had a hammer named Mjölnir. Mjölnir was considered a fierce weapon that could level mountains and summon lightning with every blow. In this poetry blog, every Thursday, (Thor’s Day), Mjölnir will forge only song - sing of the mysteries and beauties of the world.

Thursday, July 5, 2012


After the dilation,
the nausea,
and the fisted-grip
began pumping
its dull thrum
inside my temple,
I stared  
into the burning mirror.
You may feel a slight sting,
the voice in the dark crooned.

And that was when the ant
at the back of my brain
began to crackle and burn.
That was when I saw him:
a boy, in summer,
fumbling to focus the sun
on the head of an ant,
through a broken piece of glass.

Almost done,
the ophthalmologists chirped.
Just a few more.
But he was a big fat fibber.

Caught in the cross-hairs
of the infra-red beam,
I was the ant today,
the doctor's drone, 
and he was out to kill
the colony, to save my sight.
To keep my humors flowing.

After he finished
with his false sun and lies, he clucked,
Don’t forget to pick up your drops,
your Imitation Tears, on the way out.
Salve for the wounded.

Raw and teetering,
I stood at the reception desk
waiting for someone to notice me.
Can some one help me, please?
Who sent you? the woman in green pajamas hissed.
Who, who sent any of us…? I keened.
Now just give me my goddam tears!

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