Athena

Our technology beeps and honks
and badgers us from the rising of the sun
to its setting. The words that spread
before our jellied eyes flutter
our minds like butterflies. The Athena’s
of our land have dwindled. The goddess
of art sees only cat pictures and memes
with terrible faces. Language has been shortened; talking

reverted to selfies. She strikes the world with her spear,
rains books on us— paper between covers, edges
frayed and yellowed from our human oils—. Homer
falls from the sky and Hesiod springs from the dirt.
She sprinkles art on us. Drops Michelangelo,
da Vinci, and Picasso into our laps. Thespis returns
for his curtain call, but disappears
into the crowd. Their art
outshines the rest, but our heads are plastered
to our phones and we refuse to see. Athena

prods our minds with wisdom, but we spit
it out. Our wisdom comes in form of tuition,
and years we wasted pretending to care.
But Athena does not falter. She warriors for the blank mind
until one gives. She feels the soft pull
from within and sinks her wisdom and reason into the pores.
She ooh’s and ah’s as the skin
retains her. Athena lives again, is born again. One mind
saw reason. One mind will spread it through the herd.
One mind is all it takes.

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