The God of Gravity
Pretended, summoned
the feelings still came.
Top of the heap, bottom of the pile
meet Me in between, master of the middle.
Apocalypse, keep up pulling down
God's palm, holy cup ever present
coarse compulsion, holding note
matter matters timed event.
No more the pinnacle of existence
than the ashheap of the universe
the gods who woke up
naked from their slumber in a seashell
or spilt forth fully formed
from daddy's opened belly
found themselves
holy at home
during their earthly sojourns
spilling seed casting spells
showing off having fun.
