Immortal Strings
In principio when sentience formless, though new,
On wings of vanity and wax,
Begat and begat and begat,
Man created god from our umbilical crux
And ever rolled longer the clockwork apple down the unrolling scroll of
immutable fates.
By us was holy vomited “fiat lux:”
A caricature born in weakest hours and bourn on countless powers,
At once drunkenly infinite and clad
In the blood of Punic marble and Illyrian bones
Of those Anubis dragged gnawing barking from Alexander’s corpse;
Of those Diana shot in Ceasar’s cuckolded heart;
Of those Bacchus poured in last supper cups.
I sing of the man and the palimpsest arms
Who torn down the temples, the churches, the mosques,
Cathedrals of Jupiter, Halls of Athena,
Spires of Asgard, Obelisk of Ra.
Too far from the sun, the deities arise
Not from above, but within death’s guise,
A mortal’s grim whisper approaching the ego
The Flesh made Word: Vae, puto deus fio!
Dustin Vognild
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