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Begat from a tempest’s mouth

Let the sun and moon rise as one

Puking in a storm soaked gutter

face streaming blood and spit and tears and laughter

you are the one who makes your own world

Issued from my dreams, ripped from the subjective skull, I know to be true

The tragic beauty of God's haggard skin

I am my own drunk god, as are you

The eternal solid shadows cast by the minor gods of distant planets loom

while we, the greater gods of changing form

of endless cycling

run stop lights and suck on favored perfumes

rictus, turn to choke forever without change

This is the cabal

I am bundled in mass market voodoo

Trying to tear away cheap paper

To find the holy mountain

The stubborn real