God of Las Vegas

Sydney Greiner

The mountain tops are hot

with the scorched Earth’s sand.

Icarus died here,

petrified in a molten wax tomb

that has tarred and feathered him

the same strange amber color

that warmed his skin.

Icarus lies here,

in Nevada’s sediment -

God of Las Vegas inhabiting

one of one million striations,

each embracing the needle

as it does the trilobite,

embracing them both as they do him.

Icarus is here,

watching the boys tighten belts

around slender biceps

while they perch on rocks,

sacrificing themselves for pleasure.

They are numb and their shoulders

are peeling from sunburn.

Icarus knows

that when these children tumble

off the cliffside after the receding sun,

they are thinking of birds;

of eagles soaring into the light,

capturing it just a second before

ashing themselves on the desert floor