Squalid God I see a ring falling apart Corroding gold that silently sinks into the void Glittering circlets and torcs belonging to the rich And the bones of poverty Upholding the scaffolding about the ring A lattice of copper flames Around which bloody vines creep

From within the ring I see a sulking grey figure Curling, foetal and abnormal It stares up at me with one eye socket The other hidden by its ragged hair, And climbs from out of its dirty hovel Yellowed nails and halitosis creep around the lip Long fingers creaking as they bend Stiff from years of stillness

Calling God down into the abyss From out of his ultimate panopticon I bear witness to a ravaged visage. His teeth are bared in an apish snarl, His eyes gouged out and weeping yellow pus, Giving speed to my quickening pulse.

He bequeaths me an incomplete ring Lead burning into my soft, pale hands What would be perfect if it were whole This red-hot and fractured treasure Mimics his mangled body, Our mangled existence made by an infantile demiurge A deity who is truly incompetent and arrogant Blurring the line between divinity and squalor Every notion of beauty misbegotten Lined with intrinsic filth, Incomplete.