We may be gods, or so religion has gone
But, we gods have no stomach for polytheism
And so must test the strength of other gods
And feast for ourselves
On incense and sacrifice, leaving
Scraps and carnage in the wake—
A religion of consumption and self-hatred
Whereby our tracks and footprints
Are invisible to the eye, and matter so little.
We’ve dirtied up this life enough
That, even if heaven were real,
We’d pollute it too, and perhaps
It’s begun already, stuffed with the suffering
Desperately hallucinating
The glow of distant golden scapes
Where monstrous fetishes grow
Autumnal and austere
In the past, come to alter our times lines,
And take away this hell on earth,
When fire rains from above.
How can you say with a straight face,
If you’re part of the pattern
You’ll break the system?
The insanity of repetition has given us
Nothing benign, the way it’s always been
Business as usual has boiled the oceans
And drained the natural fluid ways of
Their sumption, has ever drawn so many tears—
Perhaps they can cool our oceans
And restore water to drought-plighted lands?
If we could eat human suffering
Like businessmen do, we’d end he food crisis,
If we could drink oil, like our cities do,
There would be no water crises—
But, we don’t; we demand substance
And basic dignity as living creatures
But such self-valorization
Sits like riverstones in my pocket,
Leaving little room for money.
Such hubris, a suicide, watching
The world above bleed into my final bubbles
Something I can call my own
Like so many souls escaping to anywhere but here,
These angel wings of freedom
Bring us closer to a premature death,
Hope is their wax
As we fly on the backs of billionaires
Closer and closer to the sun.