The gospel of itinerant moles
Who held his wine has held contempt
that broke a deviant mouth, that veld
should be complacent, and Northern South,
where vines demolished should tread again
the long footstep of hedonism,
that stilled and quaked the field of dreams
with nary virgin Mary, nor belief.
Who held the mouths of a lonely deity
gloomy in the sky, and ripening sighs
that spoke of killing and of wine,
has lied down dreaming in the veld
and held his personal nothing,
has held his head flat and butchered
in the failure of his bluffing.