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Thou
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Bonnet Carre
Heads shake at self inflicted misfortune. Hands wrung of responsibility. Ears covered from the ringing trumpets of fact. Father created from the black froth swept off the rim of the cauldron of creation. We are maggots, and we are worms writhing in the marshes of refuse. Flee! Flee! Sink to hands and knees. Crawl through the muck, shrunken genitalia beating against bellies and thighs. Wretched, disgusting beasts. That tree which no man knows has been hewn to it's roots and set ablaze. Our faces are bleached in its ashes.
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