Wednesday, March 19, 2014

When I Was Born

When I was born I was
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

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