Norma Jeane Baker of Troy

Arthur gives thanks to the gods every day

for the precision of command,

which makes order of the anarchy of his heart.

Surely the life of a girl can’t be collateral?

Surely the gods don’t think like that?

How do gods think?

Does it all make sense to them — war? Clouds? Fakery? People in flames?

Do they like a good war show? Cover their eyes

at the bloody parts?

Poor gods!

We’re beyond that.

We don’t cover our eyes anymore, do we — we mortals, we creatures of a day?

We’re mo