Prometheus

I am the godly one.
Each night I consume
liquid fire that rages
inside my brain, echoing:
the godly one,
the godly one.
Diurnal boundaries,
who and what I am,
all the hoops I jump through,
dissolve, dissolve…
When, finally, I sleep,
I dream of the eagle
with eyes of liquid fire
who comes to consume me.
Next day I stumble
against objects, air,
a gnawing at my centre.
Chastened, I drink water,
quench the last of the fire.
As night settles, I begin
to feel level, whole,
and ask: What have I proved?
The answer comes back:
That I am a god,
unkillable.
My veins
drink godliness again;
the eagle begins its vigil.