Parochial Lord of a Myopic Race

Provincial Lord of a small desert tribe,
technologically impaired, philosophically stunted
carts and horses
masters and slaves
men terrified of a significance
reflected deep in menstrual blood pools
witchy women and behemoths
unloading their seed upon the ground
struck-dead by the ultimate collector of dick-skin
who, with all the universe to play in –
this Creator,
whom Einstein said does not roll dice,
chose – or was it random chance,
a tornado in the junkyard –
out of the hundred billion galaxies
out of which to choose
out of all the hundred billion stars in it
out of all the planets
tracing their lonely paths of orbits
this small-minded parochial thing
this grand celestial master
chose here
to interfere
and narrowed it down
geographically and temporally
to make its magically petty demands
upon bronze age goat herders
living on the eastern edge of the Med. Sea
for so special were they
God’s chosen people
small and unaware of the vastness of the cosmos
obsessed by the tippy-tops of their cocks
worshipping their recently domesticated triumphs
that the Creator of this wonderfully expanding,
accelerating universe,
settled in amongst them
anointing them supreme over all the Earth
quite a gift this rock,
meaningless,
except for this one small band of primates
eking out a meager existence
picking, growing, shepherding
commanded to commit genocide
against the animals arbitrarily not picked
to be numero uno
by the inter-galactic head honcho –
small – town hick Deity
distiller of ignorance and lies
cosmic ejaculator of distortion and fabrication
reduced to one insignificant planet
circling a nothing sun
at the edge of just another hazy spiral
zinging lazily through the spatial vacuum
of its own creation,
but don’t question why
it works in mysterious ways
if the omnipotent can be said to be working at all –
this weak unimaginative holy spirit
driving a weak unimaginative species
into weak unimaginative wars
right here, right now
of all places and times
just how incredibly fucking precious can we possibly believe we are?

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