Alchemisland

God’s fist gives the course of history its due licks.

A sable legend kept fact and unalleged, unlegend

By the protected ledgers of Protestation’s progeny,

Whose sterner God wields a burning rod,

And is leal to a hod wielder.

God of field and of honest creatures

Of the screeching pagan, the discreetly burned page

Of the silent seeking, of the untiring unyielding unbending steely type,

God who suffers no scorn returns to ancient smiting

From his playthings would extract final tithe,

Breakable and frail as dust-made butterflies.

God of the shipwrecks

The mad half-dragon who demands every foreskin of a conquered land

God the bonebreaker, the lonely masturbator

Hateful, despising remands as only aristocrats can

God of the unreasonable demands

Of the washed hands

The treatymaker, the childtaker

He makes the cot to be empty

He made the ground so our bones would be housed

To feed the worms and the sprouts

He prizes exquisite over us, his shouting rape-made apes.