King Cthulu

Cities of the haunted Christ
undead savior dreams
meat farm herders tend the faithful flesh
succulent supplicants
rosy hued fresh pretenders by the pound
easy rabbits bound
up the cross-sticks
lined on pews
cooing pigeons strung like cranberries
rotting on winter blast floss
it’s alright
newly asleep
the nightmares snag splinters of visions
from stranger slumbers
deeper out to sea
deeper in time
monsters hustling insensate things
below a hundred atmospheres of crush
compacted, pressurized
crawl blind and pale, groping
into wide ancient mouths
bent double
hands and knees shuffling over
blue-tipped tongues
that sing, “Hey, nonny nonny”
and some bullshit about kings


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2 Responses to “King Cthulu”

  1. lornasmithers Says:

    Interesting visionary poem… from an atheist. Random question, if you don’t believe in God / gods where do you think inspiration comes from?

    • abactive Says:

      Inspiration, if it can be quantified as anything at all, is abstract. In that sense, it isn’t a single concrete entity coming form one place. It’s the chemicals in our brain and our blood sugar levels. It’s the sagging floor boards and the leaky roof. It’s bug spray and belly aches. I can say that I am glad it is when it is and not so much so when it ain’t.

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