A Theistic Cyborg, Part II

Little gods inside my heart where pumping blood is an art. With a mind of their own doth these gods call me home. Little gods with golden hair and a quantum halo perform their task with utmost care as if they were from Cairo. Confined within a job to do never resting, always true. Little gods never skip a beat yet one slips beneath his feet. Oxygenating all my cells Is he under the One God’s spell? Then he squeezes up my aortic arch and down through the arterial flow struggling against the downward stream . . . He flies out into the world, out my finger’s cut and screams -- “What the . . .”