When I Was Born

When I was born I was

            told

That the old gods were dead

That no mystery beat in the molecule

That the medium of space was clotted

           with formaldehyde

And I tried to believe

because their truths seemed singular

though their words were often fearful

and I sacrificed the gods at the cost of God

and sought to sunder the altar

           of my being.

The deaths were many

as were the births -

the placenta eternally sloughing

to yield some rough beast -

Bestial, base, reason's antithesis

is the reason for reason

and the dross is sacred

for it harbors the seed.

My slain gods rose singing

from the altar-stone

and I was cloaked in the blood

of their slaughter -

The primest fruit is rotten.

Hell and High Heaven

nurse their savage war.

Babylon swims in the tide

         of our semen

But the clay is crumbling fast.

Copyright Scott J. Couturier 2014