American Moloch

The old gods wear the bodies 

that wear the suits.

Baal sitting in the diner

doesn’t leave a tip.

Loki in his Lamborghini,

Satan in his sedan.

The curtain is the clothes they wear,

the mansions they live in,

their ceramic smiles,

the lies laced with larceny.

A movable beast, on the go,

fragmented into shards of darkness,

shivering with delight

at the actions they perform…

a whitewash if ever there was one.

Embodiment of evil, what did it take

to sign on the bloodied line? I know:

it was just easier that way, it seemed.

Beware when you wake up from your 

dream.