An old friend drank half and half
in my dream last night.
Then, altered to fecal sight,
God fucked me in the ass. He
beat my face and he laughed:
‘My sacred cock consumes thee.’
When I awoke, slightly scarred
I cringed, phoned a friend. He said,
‘that wasn’t God, God is dead!
Plus, I only drink whole milk
from metal tanks—don’t be scared,
those fuckers have nipples like silk.’
Again, up, again. A rift,
a dream slit: half love, half hate--
a message that came in haste.
Spoke an ashen dove, a crow,
‘God wants a relationship with you.’
I reply, I know. I know.
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