who are the gods

blood flows in ditches on the road from rome
who are the gods
that call men home
to vacant deaths on slave-made stone

where are their seats at the table of the dead
the banquet prepared
the men well fed
who speaks the prayer and breaks the bread

the empty chamber can hold no more

what more beyond sour sweat and blood
must stain the teeth
of their ancient brood
must gild the mildew on their putrid food

the empty chamber is never full


oil on skin
tan chest
liquid bronze
a man, a blade
to press a
line, rotation of
figure, in vacuum
unreal light
created by
(repeat <1x to form a broken hoop)


The Punchline

a bhuddist walks into a bar.
life is suffering.


great loss of life v. small gain of death:
a weak slight of hand then nothing is left,
yet absence remains without sign of theft.