the god-loved drunkard

The God-Loved Drunkard


So you may list careful, sow the seeds of boon

the deathly twine; the quiet lovers wail.


Praise be to the martyred saints, the timid watchers

the burblers of crooked verse, the wretched children,

those with star crossed eyes, bleating for the


sacred Child, the one whom I have forgotten.


Lust preys the foolish, the careless;

the twisted womb plagued with horseshoe stricken

creatures. Pray not the tired obscenity,


intoxicate the spirit.


Of lust, of wine, of poetry;


the grandest sacrement is a wasted hour,

the sour of broken promise, the fire next time.


The grandest hour awaits with flags twin ripple

ragged, thrust coldly in the autumn sky like

a secret accord rolling hills of green screaming



So you may be in love, be intoxicated.


The lifeless spirits roam helplessly with tired moan, death,

death, dishonor, roll, righteous teachers with dried tongues

in the winter of their years.


Locusts swarm, their wings beating a sonata of love and haze,

wasted days wither as a swan song to the spring and

a call to arms for the homeless rays of a pirouetted sunshine,

the one whom I have forgotten.


For the love of the most high, intoxicate the spirit,


bless the quiet lovers unafraid in their sin,

bless the wicked liars, the petulant and the wasted.


Bless the brokenhearted in a hell-hole gomorrah, their twisted

fingers gnarled in the crooked embrace of an undefeated love

and triumph, those who a livid hellmouth will swallow


in the last days of men before the coming of the Lord.


When all fails, when all falls and wallows, bless them with an

inebriated tongue singing poetry from the bellows of a God-hearted

nowhere and praise, be forgotten.


Be forgiven in your sin. For transgression is the path to God;

the sinless shall be shunned for their grave impiety to the Lady

of the wandering spirit and the suffering mad will rise from

their foolish ashes; only they will be fit to kiss the feet

of the Lord.