to protect myself
against your coming
i grew a horn
on my head
moved to a mountain
and trained my lungs
to breathe thin air

my horn has marked me evil
man of myths
molded into threat

my body
is made of broken glass

i live poised
on the edge of cliffs
ready to leap
at any given moment
martyr myself
make holy days
bleed the blood of saints
who would not bow
to tyranny

i will fly
be flung into open air
come crashing down
to blood
and sparkling glass
before i be taken

on the precipice
i can see you
but your eyes
are blinded by the sun

you are too weak
to climb
too scattered
to gather your selves
too afraid of heights
to visit god

i am olympus

i taste now
of himalayan salt
and certain death

your weapons
are too heavy
to haul this high
you must come
bare bodied
and humbled
by the climb

but other men will come
with sharp tools
made of iron
and carving knives
to harvest my ivory

and i will be waiting

ready to die

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