simonhlilly

the gods that do not feed
who become the forgotten causes,
turn cranky, hungry, bitter.

but all the demons have vacated.
the halls of hell cobwebbed, silent
(except for the spores of black souls
waiting, encysted in excuses).

they are incorporate, wined and dined,
no need for sleight of hand:
the old tricks of greed and gold,
perennial, unfailing.

hard to tell them all apart
(if ever distinction were possible),
these hollow, mewling gods,
these sly, cancerous demons,
these fantasists of bright science,
this clean severance of fission,
these meticulous drones.