POETIC JUSTICE: GLEANING THE MYTH

Just who the hell do you think you are?
Coiled scale-up-snake on the heap of want,
Threshing down, down, down, down…
Over the back-snap-rape of one cell, one flesh.

Tell me just who the hell do you think you are?
Gleaning the myth of your shadowy scope, spittle down,
Down, down, down, down…
Stop your god-damned-marauding slaughter;
Your `if-it-suits-me-put-`em-to-death’ prattle!

You’ve not God tucked under your coat! God’s weeping mightily!
You’ve a small-g-god stuffed inside your loathe-filled-head!
You slaughter ideas, execute joy, and bend upright hope
And mold God into some monstrous slump-down-dreg!
Collateral damage will be your final stem-celled-shrieking,
You son-of-a-bitch!