I found god in a bloody field of wheat,

face down with ichor stained chains around his

wrists, throat, ankles, and abdomen

 

He was handsome in the face

dark hair

dark skin

teeth like mountains and tongue like an ox

eyes red from the earth in his face

as he was forced prostrate

by the weight of a sanctified, sacrosanct ensemble of magpies

picking at the rawness of his back

He squinted to see me

 

He was the only one that noticed, it seemed

his messengers paid me no mind

still tearing away in their spray of devotional blood

cleansing themselves again and again

of their various sins and deeds that they’d done

bathing in forgiveness and preening their wings of loose feathers and lice

spindly pale fingers braiding each other's vanity

in a convulsing mass of Hedonic virtue

 

everything was stained brilliantly

but especially their mouths

 

and especially the land around which they were set

the land upon which I was stood

the grass was gold

the trees a promising shade of mirrored sterling

and the fruit gemstones of every zodiac and hue

a prismatic inset for this overgrowth of every king

and yet this throng of wealth

was but an aside to the monstrous feeding before me

and I knew without a doubt

 

That God took no pride in any of the things he’d formed

of his own flesh

or otherwise