A Nihilists Prayer

We listen; the phantoms that quietly push
The rafts of reason out of dock

Into rapids - chaos reigned
By Faith, the angel-autocrat

And Dread! - That dearest chaplain of Hell;
Consorts in neighbourly reprise

Check / un-check the dead / un-dead
Assembly lines for shelf-life souls

Encroach their graves, disturb the sleep
For selling fate in different shades

They hone the useless craft of purpose
For xerographic actors

-

Now I, the martyr, have heard white noise
As space-glaciers grind and shave

And listened for the signal, so far past the pitch of Prayer
To witness swindlers masquerade -

Their sculptures, frail and dark as soot
Dealt as works of truth and art

And testify before a God of business men, I will:
As one, we are

Only in our loneliness