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turning up their ion-trails at those sell-outs trying to teach
the dinosaurs about ritual practice
and the importance of regular hecatombs. It was
a lot like high school. The popular kids figured out the game
right away. Sun gods like football players firing glory-cannons
downfield
bookish virgin moon-nerds
angry punkbrat storm gods shoving sacrificial
gentle bodied compassion-niks
into folkloric lockers. But one
a late bloomer, draft dodger
in Ragnarok, that mess with the Titans,
both Armageddons,
started showing up around 1928. Your basic
trickster template
genderless
primary colors
making music out of goat bellies
cow udders
ram horns
squeezing cock ribs like bellows.
It drew over its face
the caul of a vermin animal,
all black circles and disruption. Flickering
silver and dark
it did not yet talk
it did not yet know its nature.
Gods
have problems with identity, too. No better
than us
