Sex and Death and Time
Sex and Death and Time

The Apes have a word for this,
a symbol for that,
in a World, they have
administered an antidote
to all Crime, 
called it Sin,
let it languish in meaning,
mean anything a suffering wants.

Now, like the seed
in the heart of the egg,
the Executioner grows
grotesque, as though
not the thing itself.
Gothic chirps ring from towers.

God is old hat; the sun, 
as the moon at night,
the apex of a cap
Man wears, as his dragon-slippers
crawl close to dust, and he
can eat steer if he wants:
in trite punishment for neglect.

And here comes the Symbol-Maker,
a very portal in and out.
Knowledge in the form of a cave.
This must be what they wanted all along. 

It shall be this, it is this,
now: Sin a typographical error of the time.
There is the new Music, new Stories
recorded. Here lies the mat,
the very mat. Enter. Welcome.

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