The Death of God - and Other Matters

Might sightless worms express surprise If evolution gave them eyes And brains to sport (of larger size) To grok verse modern poet throws, Sing, "Rose is rose is rose is rose!" Snort scentless petals up your nose?" My mind can't fathom which is worse, That 'rhyme is dead,' or 'truth's a curse,' But vanity's become the hearse That carries all men to their doom If Trump's not dumbest in the room! God grant that someone finds a broom To sweep such 'dog poop' from our floor. Give "dust" Your Grace to dream of more! Betrothed! Art's vacuum's paramour? Pray what "depends" on chicken white, Though J. C. William's thinks it might. Who posts immortal's appetite? Let Poet's truth in brevity Rub shoulders with infinity, Help show a path that other's see. If Servant God's in lost and found Or bound by rock - well underground, 'Most Rabid Dog's' not worth a pound, Then poetry, all thought's a loss, Our current 'Rube' of human dross Is cube six deep, six down - across! Brian Johnston 10th of June in 2019