Gabriel’s horn cracked the heavens from side to side,
The roaches scattering in a fright,
The stillborn dreams of the mortified
Laid to rest amidst their plight.
Breadless beggars pacing at the gates
Of Elysium, where feasts abound and sate,
The selected few fiddling like
Nero at the sight of fire,
Copulating Caligulas in a craze,
The grapes of Bacchus down their gullets.
They dare aspire to conduct
Them field hollers from their pulpits.
Promethean flames for oil drums.
Narcissus incarnate, in the flesh,
Forging onward some distorted,