By Scott Couturier
The Idiot God, struck mad with machinations,
dumbed by the din of Time winding down.
Throne coated in crabbed arcane notations,
fiery brow fraught, lips fixed in marmoreal frown.
Above swirl storm-clouds of psychoses’ creation,
lightning lancing thunderless to deadened thews.
Below, the cosmoses of Creator’s ideation
learn the stupefied silence of their sire to rue.
Opaline eyes fixed on the void beyond void,
babbling dumb words to worlds inchoate, eager
to encompass any demiurgic urge devoid
of dotard’s pathos: pining for Archimedes’ lever!
But no sensible will this ill deity portends:
only Eternity of barren, sickly stupor,
endless beginnings without any ends.
The stars weep tears of flame at Divine torpor.
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