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Michael McGuire
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Whoring After Gods
She altered the atmosphere in passing to her deliverance,
The venom of envy pumped to the serpent's fangs,
She leans against the swords of this desperate authority,
Proclaims it's all mine it always was; I want it back.
Cities built upon,
Broken Babylons,
Time's technology,
Man's biology.
Nursing the manic callings; divine stress; fundamental flaws,
The infrastructures slow rust to the rapacious rebuilding,
Run the numbers on the crash of this faith based placebo,
You crawl so low to this higher calling you hum the devil's alibi,
And if there be a road which no map can trace the soul of,
Then here we will take our exit and gut our pagans for the plunder,
These soft-stories they have no center they are ripe for retelling,
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New gods they curry new bibles and new blood for their alters.
Greater heavens await the wings of these devouter angels,
So mine your stomach's growl down to its acid alphabet,
This is a first son's illusion a serpent on the glass of your ambitions,
But this profane wrath won't weather the divine stasis of his mortal-coil,
And the fall that he mates of the sky will wreck his skill for flight,
The sidewalks of paradise will soak and suffer these crash-landings,
But the medicine powdered from your bones won't heal the holy,
So we will bait our graven image and go whoring after gods.
Cities burnt upon,
Paradise Babylons,
Man's economies,
Gods and evil deeds.
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