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monolalia → Writings → The thunder I stole

After the war
    they rebuilt me
    in my own image.
    
Look!
    I’ll step out of a cloud
        for you —
      — a crowd, I mean. 
    I’ll 
        I’ll dance our names
        into the autumn rubble.
        Tap, tap…
        no big production.

    Perfect I am not:
        Frankenstein’s monster!
        This real me’s a mockery.
        I have lightning for blood —
            Hee-hee! It tingles.

    I’ll
        I’ll blow myself a kiss
        in your eyes.
           (Did you know?
            Mine are now light-adapted.)
        Tell me
            that you’ve always known
            this thunder I stole,
            known it was mine all along.

        Perfect I am not
            as I take flight
            rustling
                no doves, just pigeons.
                But I’m as far as the earth
                         and striped stockings
                                  could ever hope to fly me.