Franz’s Glance at a Danzig France

We can move mountains like God,

or Jacques Louis David,

clambering atop a hillock

for the Festival of the Supreme.

Paper stuffed into a plaster

that Paris couldn’t hold for more

than a couple months,

The waves of blood,

gushing over the feet of madame la guillotine,

The razor,

burnished,

cleaned for another mournsome routine,

The toast,

it don’t taste different,

but its texture,

how libertine!

Would the world be any different

if humans had founded it?

What if we have been the deity all along?

When the Hebrews wrote the Old Testament,

do you think they knew that it’s sequel

would sprout legs and straddle oceans?

That part 3 would sweep the dust at home?

Was there ever a prophet so good at their job,

that they survived until succumbing to nature?

Are sharp sticks and pitch soaked trees

features of truth,

or symptoms?

The disease?

Seeing castles in an empty sky.

The audacity?

Asking why.