Brother of the blowfly And godhead, you work magic Over battlefields, In slabs of bad pork And flophouses. Yes, you Go to the root of all things. You are sound & mathematical. Jesus, Christ, you're merciless With the truth. Ontological & lustrous, You cast spells on beggars & kings Behind the stone door of Caesar's tomb Or split trench in a field of ragweed. No decree or creed can outlaw you As you take every living thing apart. Little Master of earth, no one gets to heaven Without going through you first.