A Quiet Morning

they're interfering with our geometry
it's silent but we can hear it all
again a victim of philosophy
the shrieking echoes from canyon walls
this time it seems we'll be vengeance sent
as opposed to a simple fall
we've never tasted the luxury of choices:
Vermin forever crawls




as ivory and blood in yellow sand
this infection rages
our memories are resorted and
so we forget our ages
Order in any way is
disemboweling
we prefer our history to be
towering
Memory is foam degrading
spume and storm retreat and fading
a party over no reason to stay
with the dawn revealing the disarray
Instant reaction is satisfaction
so burn all previous pages




two thirds of god already spent
one third remainder's all we've left
so it seems we're left alone
as the timebomb ticks.
We'd need at least six to feed our own
and get them up to their old tricks
this is a time when new gods are born
but we're past any sort of fix
riding on the coming storms
nice enough to be in the mix
just when it's getting really warm
remembering those already gone




we could all just be like copies
of people who came before
no need for resurrection
reincarnation's more efficient, sure
recycle all the souls on earth
no reason to make more.
But the only gods we've met are reptiles
animals, plants, and rocks
if such is the case then we suppose
that souls are just like socks
changeable and washable,
and they mostly come in pairs
if one is mated to the other
the more harmonious sets we'll wear




if we say we're clever (never)
then we'll tend the stones
some things are forever better
when they're made of bones
anyone can love in all kinds of weather
while the magnificent remain alone