Around both hands we slide the gloves of God
And walk into the surgery
Our taps for wine are parching great rivers
The sky will not refill. The stag
Ignored will thirst for drink.
We ever prey on Nature's tender loins
To feed the gut that never cloys
Even gnawing the bones.
Guarded the woods we barge into which secrets
Gone will not regain. Now reigning are
Godlings with no repentance.
Monday, September 6, 2010