Odes of Strangers XX

The net is set before,
And the Fowler garners his devices.
Oh! Steel trap!
It is sprung and wound taught.

He seethes with venom
And with his black veil
He shows himself as violet light!
He dawns the clergy's robe
And stands above
Beyond, with his fowler's instrument set.

The congregation dances in their red hooves
And cloven feet,
As the witches draw their enneagrams.
They do their dances
Ecstatic with the tongues of asps.
They bow, they raise
They dance to the light of their own fires
And they say, "I see."

The Black Priest
Raises, in the robes of Baptist's flannel
They shout their glorious shouts
In ecstasies,
They gorge and smoke their peace pipes 
Outside of their Holy Cloisters.
They speak of life now,
And they speak of prosperity
To call forth holy visions to bring them their good
Fortune, and their just deserts.

He draws his cup, with the pentagon
Pits at the back of his church
Where he sacrifices the goats.
He destroys the content man's life
With his counsel he gives to the man's wife
Impregnating her with her desire for life.
He implants this same desire in his whole flock
As the fanatics bear their arms
And draw forth their swords
Ready to wage the Holy War of Armageddon.
He calls forth his armies from the woods
Whom he has also impregnated with the desire to live.

He speaks of gaining beauty in the wife
And of physique and flesh.
He sways in his black robes
And hood dawned which prevents his face from being seen.
He is the Judas Priest
Presiding over the Black Sabbaths.
He is our modern Preacher
Preaching the good work of self content
And prosperity, likening this fallen world
To the land of milk and honey.
He says, "Heaven is a place on earth,"
And he tells his troop to take it
To slurp down the victuals and to feast upon
The sea's fats.

Prosperity, beauty, contentment,
These are his sermons
To a lost generation.
Saying to them,
"Receive your bounty
"For you shall provide for yourself!
"The poor are a scourge upon the earth
"And the rich are the inheritors of the land.
"The meek are all sinners
"And those who mourn are chief among the blasphemers.
"Those who are poor in spirit, they are the filth that we despise
"And those who are peace makers, they we hate because we love war."

The congregation spins in their pews, 
And dance to the beats
They sing their magical chaunts,
They shout their "Hallelujah"
To the Jesus of Suburbia. 

And though they sprout wings
The net flung into the air.
And only the righteous escaped.

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