We
could
not be
forgiven:
the native organ
blew so fine; we thought it built, not
grown, still less their living god who'd play one single time;
and
we
never
thought to bring
premature judgment
day, but soon as we cleaned its pipes
reality began to fray; belief can do that:
folk
screamed
and ran,
hadrons boiled
to quarks, then quarks to
nothing; had the cosmos last thoughts
they'd be something like "Fuck me with a holy organ..."