villanelle for hungry gods
What reason for the blood, the fire, the animal head?
Excess in any form is what makes a god.
The gods, they are hungry until they are dead
for flesh on the fire or flesh in the bed:
whatever they catch by tooth or by claw,
their prayers are of hunger until they are dead.
We supplicate, domesticate, call gods well-fed—
these monsters of justice, honor, love sharp-jawed—
these gods—they are hungry until they are dead.
The hanged god or the resurrected one, someone bled;
for wisdom or for mercy, they expect their payment raw
and bleeding—your animal heart or your animal head.
But we have always dreamt them so, in red
and gold: what is god but lightning rod
to call down blood and fire on our animal heads,
to terrify and awe? No sweet relief except for dread—
or else—how can it be—the gods are flawed?
No reason for the blood, the fire, the animal head...
the gods who are hungry until they are dead?