Hagiography

Bones dry fast in Western dust
Gone two hours—erect the bust
Tears dry quick, resentment bleeds
Follow that trail where you want it to lead

Never miss a chance to use the dead
They always say just what you want to be said
From what crows pick clean, make a marionette:
Jaws speak with your voice
Jaws carry a threat
Alas poor Yorick,
Your stage awaits:
The gaze of the eternal
The grandest of fates.
We’ll weave what we can
From the clues of your life
We’ll salt the fields
We’ll seed the strife
And your sacrifice … to us …
Won’t be in vain
We’ll resurrect you
As an agent of pain

Good God, grant revenge, sweet stench
We’ll divine your will, we’ll dig the trench
Bring the last battle nigh; Gabriel, sound your horn
Let the enemy weep; let his locks be shorn
Seek not the truth; the truth speaks lies
The angel cries, the devil sighs
This is what it sounds like
When bones dry.

– GBM 9-11-25