Molech
Molech opens a clinic in the ribcage,
charges interest on every heartbeat,
sells bandages pre-infected with scripture.
Molech gnaws on mirrors,
drinks the horizon through a straw,
injects infinity into the veins of silence.
Molech baptizes rats in kerosene,
cures loneliness with dynamite,
staples the alphabet to the mouths of children.
Molech publishes a cookbook of weapons,
roasts arithmetic over an open flame,
seasons prophecy with the ashes of calendars.
Molech laughs until the walls collapse,
his teeth are hammers, his tongue is a lawsuit,
his eyes file paperwork against the moon.
Molech marries Nothing in an empty church,
gives birth to Infinity through his own shadow,
names the child Confusion and feeds it broken clocks.
Molech blesses the apocalypse
with holy water siphoned from sewage,
preaches that every echo is an unpaid bill,
and every silence a weapon still waiting to sing.
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