Attempting to track back
through secret stages
towards the genesis
of thought, we seem now
to have caught up
with the Word-God
who we’ve heard emits
from his great maw
occasional syntactical
tidbits of law. Beneath,
two hairless naked slaves
reach up – bravely
waiting for the fellow
to bequeath another
sentient salivary plop –
hoping for a hot wet
syllable to drop, or simile
to fall: praying maybe
this time it will lend them
some small sense
of anything at all.
.
No comments:
Post a Comment