Death is sick-diarrhoea streams from His mouth
over an oval orange face and through tiny piggie fingers
he careens and croons through this China Shop world
thinking He be the one Most Deserved
and everything else orbits His greatness
and those that don’t respect Him are thrown from the club
and those that utter doubts about His lies are trampled underfoot
by legions upon legions of characters
for he hates
and he lies
and he destroys
for death is all Death knows
and Death begets Mayhem
and Mayhem begets Pain
and Pain is the pillow underneath his sleeping skull
it rings across the vast chasms in His puffed chest
above the still-more-bulging girth below
that swallows and begs yet shall never be full
because His hunger will never be stilled with food
I know Death and I know it well
I see its works
from His golf courses to His affairs
to the foolish wig upon His head
to the pumpkin face-paint He wears
from the endless depths of His lack of knowledge
to His robbery of the poor to pay the rich
to His seething lack of humanity
to the way He treats umbrellas
Death cloaks itself with night
because it has no use for all things light
Death is creaky and boned
His goodness has been filed and honed
Death is tall and wields the blade
His father’s insults to evade
I know Death and I know it well:
Death is the mouth of the Nightmares we tell
Yes I know Death, I know it well:
For Death is the Price of the dreams we sell
I can only pray for one thing more:
that Death’s ugly reign ends at four