Thy Scepter

Cum stains splashed across the empyrean
burn the prisoner in his cage.
Satan glides his hand down our tunics,
drops sugar cubes in our unzipped flies.

When can I show you my final form, dragged,
drugged, born anew?
A beautiful she-wolf, heavy with eggs,
boils hidden in grey shocks of hair. Worms,

baked in a pudding of sunset,
and gangrenous flies hide poop in your memories.
Every poem is a constipated shit.
I steal them from grandpas and never give credit.

Kidneys beans and celery bones, discarded,
rot in the stoa of Thought, beside littered words
from my years of captivity,
pasted together, dunked into syrup.

Labor fills everything that we use.
You drift away in front of my eyes. Everything
keeps turning back into flesh, tatters of reason
frayed on the wind, salty hunger

drooled on the floor. Winners
gather the era's justice, scattered coins
and leaves in a ditch. Roots
thirst under a twirling sky, bound and willed by the nod of thy scepter.