There were not enough swans,
At the social gathering,
To break the ice by divinity,
This frozen block of chunky vomit.
God would not recover the upset through the rest of us,
Our hearts looking like what the cat kept bringing in:
Scattered tidbits, purple-red, with fleshy strings,
And odd-laying feathers, crumpling flat,
And the blue and black spine,
With mangled up entrails strung around connected.
I see the body of bird with the actual head missing,
Bits of leg with ants crawling on,
Detached vacancy views with broken silver eyes.
Does the Almighty have a full belly of free-will versus predestination?
SCA Y2K