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In a whorl of matter

Thunderous searing gusts of flame

Dance a black trench across the planet’s face

A dry baptism

For a world made mute by thirst

There is only loss because we create

One should not mourn

That which hears its name sung

In tongues of fire and blisters and decay

When things reborn ascend in verdant shoots

The god of the two pylons

Falls prostrate and willing

Simpering Yhwh

Calling to be slain

Like a catamite starving for rut

“Even so will I break this people and this city

As one breaketh a potter's vessel

To never be made whole again

And they shall bury them till there be no place to bury.” - JER 11:19

Ferine, virile

The brute cordons

The swaying Christchild

In a lakeside wreath of rockrose

And sends up smoke in defiance

Curses boiling in the billows

To the cadence of bones

Cracking in the embers

All the world is Gehenna

It is our bodies that hang sizzling

From the daises of Tophet

It is our mouths which drip and crack

And herald the age of Hinnom

(וְאַתֶּ֖ם פְּר֣וּ וּרְב֑וּ שִׁרְצ֥וּ בָאָ֖רֶץ וּרְבוּ־בָֽהּ׃ ס - GEN 9:7)