Thunderous vapours!
water-spout with lion’s teeth
A trumpet sounds the end of things
with its scabby tongue
But no, but no
The forests and mountains are still calving
and in his velvety pot
God sleeps on his anvil
Tossing fate to the winds
gun at the ready
the Orphan man goes forth
with his thoughts on his nose
At the market where one grinds one’s teeth
stamp
lacerate yourself
We have ground our teeth
stamped
and lacerated ourselves
And it was our destiny.
For the altar of expiation
we would be the incense
and awaken God from his coma
Let him abolish us
And begin his creation afresh
Let him shatter science
extinguish the embers
And plunge us again in the sweetness
of innocent day.
For man if you pass
from God’s vassal to his equal
and if upon the scaffold
You decapitate death
the new God
You would still be no less monstrous.
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