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JEAN. Who has been more loved than me?
ATHENA. No-one.
JEAN. Who has been more hated than me?
ATHENA. No-one.
JEAN. And you what do you think of me?
ATHENA. I was born in Greece. I am the senior. I am the ear of
the year. I am a tower, mature art, armature. I am sea verity. I am sieve or
eddy. I am severity. I am the bitter bit her. The bed of roads and roadbeds.
To dream me is verity. Severity too dreamy. I am the myth, the hissing one.
The wishing on, the meshuggah. The facing spear, the spearing face. I am the
marrow, I am the wellspring. From my arrow art springs well-sprung. I say:
art is the tiller eye of the artillery of our teary eye. The shogun of
myth...
(she stops)
JEAN. And me? What do you think of me?
(He puts a coin in
the opening.)
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ORACLE
Your cries, even under
torture,
Are cries scribed helping pride.
Into scripture changes ocean
When ink is flung inside.
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