It is in the power of belief
To hold the entire life-time hostage
Within the sanguine red tunnels
A rag-like hope tumultuous drifts
Along the red rapids to anchor
In the docks of glacier-death,
So fuck God!
If he be, then let him kindly be:
I shall not waste lust on an altar
Where an imagined image stares back
Without blinking, nor admonishing
Nor encouraging but cold, cold
like a mute dozing at a question.
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