Purple Robe And Chain Of Gold

I bet if I
Subjected all the prophets’
Dreams to freudian
All that’d come out of it
Would be penises
And vaginas
For all the horns and eyes
The kings saw on the beasts
Daniel was ordained
To tame.
Could exile become
The love language
Of a man who’s function
Turns everything holy
Into daddy issues?
Patricide matricide
The ram and the olive branch
The Ancient of Days
With pure wool hair
Is that what our famous
Oedipus would call

Let all those chains
Clink to the floor
Spasms of iron as
Molecules contract and expand
To make the material
Quantonomically identical
To that furnace
Our dreamers
Took a tan in.

Hides full of fat
Not properly speared
Is that too
An omission of the conscience
For the clear need of flesh
Penetration to be exact?

And have we missed the
Writing on the wall all along
Analogue or digital
The divine finger
Has refrained from the well deserved
Tsk tsk.

We believe
In our dens
And our lions
And our well meaning kings

You deserve a glass of wine
After all that tribulation

But you’ve only accepted


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