Icarian Delusions Of Grandeur Poem by Gregory Wm. Gunn

At Chronos' raised browed
forelock, there won't and can't
be any detachment, no turning
back now, no, none whatsoever
at this crucial stage, no deviation
from paralysing stillness.


Unwavering high upon a windswept,
white clay precipice, his perspiring,
wrinkled forehead is keen with serenity
of the adventurous quest, squinting
eyes focussed on the rosy skyline,
convinced to the core
this is the kairotic moment
to take a swift uplift of faith,
sentient that his viscera's aching
void might merely be surfeited
by the unfailing, defiant flames
in his feathery veins.


Adapted arms outstretched,
buoyed with soaring anticipation,
flight of fancy, fire & fury fused
together into the flesh, a pyric javelin
that non-Olympian, narcissistic
humanity with unabashed nerve
feel necessary to heave
into the face of glorious Helios.



major revisions made on 01/15/08