what is it that we produce
and reproduce
but souls
for soaking up
this infinite sadness
accompaniment to the halftone key
harmony of harps
punctuated by bliss
by happy glimpses at death
what is ecstasy
but forgetting?
then we drone on
dragging our blanket
through time's dusty hallways
aiming for magic rooms
hopeful of contents
some for salvation
some for soma
it is no wonder at all
our impatient hearts' anticipation
of the saviour from beyond
our mortal perdition
and no wonder
our prodding curiosity
on his prefigured fate
"Show and tell us, ancient babe!
Rise again and share life's blood.
Speak to us in our cannibal tongue
for death is all we know."
For death is all we know
