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Masseuse

de Thou

Heads shake at self-inflicted misfortune
Hands wrung of responsibility
Ears covered from the ringing trumpets of fact
Father created from the black froth swept off the rim of the cauldron of creation
We are maggots, and we are worms writhing in the marshes of refuse

Flee! Flee!
Sink to hands and knees
Crawl through the muck, shrunken genitalia beating against bellies and thighs
Wretched, disgusting beasts
That tree which no man knows has been hewn to it's roots and set ablaze
Our faces are bleached in its ashes

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