Wrapped in the roots of my rage

waiting for them to gather

impatiently around The Entity,

worshipping their robots,

saying to one another "look

what our machines have done!"

these flesh and blood drones

demanding my servitude

to the fire in which they burn.

And the tabernacle of their error

will be bell-shaped, hammered

into a human brain

with its circuitry of beer cans,

with all its vacuum urge

to be empty and blank to design

a labyrinth whirlpool

with a black hole's eye.