i.
Nine days I hung from the
boughs of great Yggdrasil;
limbs wrapped tightly ’round
my neck – a choked and dry
tongue scraping across lips
as I tried to speak with the taste
of ash and leaves in my mouth, as
I prayed to Odin, as the branches
clawed at taut skin and a swollen belly.

But the runes were silent.

Crowds scream in horror outside. Car horns and whistles waft in through the window behind the warm air. He slowly shuffles down the last couple stairs toward the vending machine and drops the coins in. Ca-chunk! His shoulder is still sore from earlier but he pulls out the Coke and pops the top off.