O! This still night jostles the dripping center
Bringing closer our wedding of dark breath
Strapped to the chest in an intelligent design
And stirring the cackled graves of the suffering;
Thousands of them slain in the time it takes
A tall building to implode in a torrent of flesh
Or in the span of dreaming up a new God.
O! The still night quickens our oozing core
Rending nearer our pitching dream.
On its back rides a chattering ugly thing
Made of our thoughts and our hunger.
It’s come to anoint our feet with moist lips
And place a wreath `round our neck
And call us savior, liberator and murderer.
(Like I said, it’s a chattering ugly thing…)