How the disillusioning felt deep! Oh, the birds!
Oh, the rotting lepers! Oh, the weak!
Make them weaker, Lord!

Be a beacon.
Break me; make me whole.
Give me a crutch. Give me a disease.
Make me blind. Make me wheeze.

Winter becomes the fear to make him hide.
Inside the cave: the fiendish priest.
As Laverna sighs his insane prayers upon the wind,
he mutilates his scabbing, filthy skin.

With wormy brain, the goblin quakes—shitting himself and suffering.

Reaping people with communion leeches,
Stomach dripping, gaping, leaking feces,
Altruistic, self-defeating cretan,
Wasted, waiting for an absent Savior, a pig-god.

And in the valley: hear the Cave Ghoul creeping,
in the tetrahedron, schizophrenic,
in the sanctuary of the city,
in cathedrals and in cemeteries.

He’ll make a hell here to make death seem more heavenly.
Cave Ghoul creeps...

01/09/2013

Author's Note: An inverted ode for St. Francis of Assisi.

Posted on 01/09/2013
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