In Ganymede ruptured lungs are as nothing where metals melt and run as gold in fractured spleens Who loves the mad? the dead Planet swings into their dreams In Ganymede the gods reside in sockets where caved seas quake as lead in brain tumors Where do they dwell? the sad World spins on into rumour In Ganymede there can be no reward the flesh the petals jewelled bright birds and firesnakes tread the cord Here do we dwell cyclops with splintered wood to bind our words We have reward enough.