lambs washed away in the stream of capitalist bullshit

leaving bloody entrails clinging to golden rocks

covered with silky green moss and

lo! become a god and

lo! become a rich man

step on the faces of those weeping souls

who have fallen to the ground

trampled under foot by howling, gibbering gimps

wearing the flesh of their mothers

and the flesh of their fathers

passed down with a smile

stripped clean by a razor so sharp

you can cut a slice clean out of time

and crawl through the other side

where the light is black and the

bees beg for mercy and all this

endless misery is milk and honey

and a golden hand holding a test-tube

containing a single electrical pulse.

 

life is a unknowable number of

explosions happening on an atomic level

at precisely the right time in the right

space on the canvas and

we climb mountains just to make others

look small.