I want to be Rilke

a god in my own right,
perched atop death and human experience

- as Thanos enthroned
upon a mound of gleaming skulls

eyes, glowing and smoking
like embers in a pipe,
well drawn...

eyes
with the stars
showing through them;

infinity reflected

inside
and out -

and in my posited Rilke-esqueness

(silk smooth,
wise
and resolute)

I'd shit
easter eggs of encapsulated existence,

and with assonant assertions

rise
whispering
from the depths
of archetype,

embed
myself
-entire-
in the collective
subconscious,

Id, ego, etc.
et al.