The miserly slaveries of the backbleakers! Breakin my back with
bleaker slaveries, beakers of bleak DNA, the black DNA of
Chaos Vectoris. The smiling aliens of the green planets under
the high, high suns, high up past the nebulae and coal sacks,
looking out on our universe with covetous eyes. Theirs too, baby.
Their sack of stars too, my sweet.

A rock in a sack of stars, how sweet. Rocking with ultris radiation.
My notebooks are the scratchings of numerous civilizations, if I only
had the key. I could read it right if I only had the color-coding key.
Alas, I do not, so they remain pieces of ornate conjecture, all which
can be easily discounted or counted as desire sees fit. As custom
dictates.

Oh, loathely custom. Custom that rigidifies the neck and deifies the
guillotine. The more we advance, the more we technoll, the meeker
we get. In order to inherit the earth, we must become the meek.
Once you become meek, and as a little child, i.e., flexible, you then
open up to the wonder and bounty of your birthright, i.e., EARTH.

Hung in a sack of stars, the earth
Blue badge, lozenge on space
Lapis lazuli lozenge,
the stone that emulates earth from space
hanging in the obsidian
flecks of pyrite prinkling everywhere

The wonder and bounty of yonder birthright earth.

The meek will inherit the earth,
then lose it to a con man
Or trade it for a bowl of stew
Like a real three-wishes fuckup

The armies of the meek
Shelter the meek on the earth
The meek in their bunkers
Directing their armies

The meek are forming up their armies

The snakes in their bunkers
The meek in their bunkers with the snakes
Their armies snaking out across the plain
Barbarian armies in a rust-colored wasteland

The meek inherit the earth
And sell it for ten million talents
Now all the meek are clean skeletons
Prone on pure silver in space
Strewn on pure silver platforms
Watching the aliens tow it away
Watching with empty old eyeholes