The Living God
Cars run through its veins carrying nutrients to markets. Its blood is made of trucks and trains. The blood of those are made from oil. The Living God’s immune system is composed of prisons and police, and it has a million eyes all watching and waiting with the same anonymous suspicion that’s carried in another million eyes--these ones latched to skulls and smiles.
with envy drums blank like everything outside before any blessing plucked a most valuable jewel. that muttering sound of manners stared speechless in perfect silence. Sometimes they could play like saucers crashing through His unaffected manner and skins of intricate explanations streamed into shreds.
Howling and breaking while people were nothing as we invented an external nervous system within a matrix of electrical grids dispelled across the laws of accepting food and soothing drowsy cried the broken smiles repeated dreamily and menacing unless you kneel.
What if I could tell you that one man can cast a tiny spell to enslave another. The law is thus a graceful costume but the magick is as real as the walls of a prison.
Still I shall make short rush of His nature
bent against His pedestal
while I snatch
fainting from the purest prayer
where morals are generated from
An ontology of ghosts
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