What Tony Stark Thought

A Poem by D

Comic books are rekindling my love of superhero stories.

When the age of flesh burnt free
of its chrono-powered skeleton,
falling unbound toward heaven,
albeit as wavering trails of ash--
efficiency will breed in its absence.
Man as machine outshines his
tepid, self-burning tendencies.
As an engine he is finally decisive,
spotless, free, and never striving.
The lack of confines is dazzling,
but his lovers grieve over the
satin that will never stain again.