i.
the name is a little thing
someone else thinks of as a big thing
but there you go
collapsing their abomination
to make it fit
into your hand
ii.
anger simmers in the city sewers and in the county’s shallow wells
handshake religion is gone along with provable facts
most pumpkin filling isn’t all pumpkin
but try Libby’s it’s slick as grandma’s otter
there is often nothing for dinner despite our hunger
and the polity longs for fame not serenity
we hold the memory of who we were to our friends
before the great sickness
iii
today’s godhead resembles a goat’s head
elegant polar he knows it’s alright
to overdress for a riot
sunrise is a cavity in his yellow tooth
his robes are layered like a tree-split moonrise
the words of his prophecy are knives and hatchets
masquerading as divination
he carefully oils and sets them aside
hung on pegs over his sideboard
which resembles the Altiplano
he fancies they will come in handy when
he has to explain how he robbed us of divinity
gave us cell manacles and a prisoner suit
of humanness and why he hurls
ice and lightning at us from the same sky
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