By James Wise
The World Tree is sticky with blood
and only some of it is mine.
Climbing up and climbing down,
hungry to know and learn and master,
I am stained with it, taste it on my tongue
as it mixes with Loki’s moist fiery spit.
My hands struggle to grip the branches
and there is always the chance of falling.
I know very well that even gods can die.
I’ve been there and will be there again.
And again and again and again. Good!
Life should be an extreme sport and even
a god should have to hunt for his food.