the table is set
i have left a place for you
the landscape of your longing

we find no sustenance here
thirteen eversoulstarved

suckcheeked rubberlimbed
lice eat more than we do
itching scratching
disciples

i have fed your heirs

plastic slathered buggy pancakes
tall glasses sugar water reconstituted sour milk
thick slices sad slimy orange poverty cheese
crusty mildewed manna
cramp our bellies
and void us

yes if my father comes surely he will be hungry--

the wretched foul unwashed beast beckons gaily

we trembling tornasunder vagabond scions
peel back your tarnished grace
devour your rotten fruits

your beatific visage twists fiendishly,
your mirthless horse guffaw
taunts

and you rapturously drink the **** of the man who ravaged your descendants

we unworthy find no succor
but only violent terror

--imagine a world without the unwashed?