The savage truth is that the goodness that we preach
Revolves around the notion of an absent evil
Involves the blind spot of a will that perceives
Itself as something self-excluding
Dissolves in words that are too many or too few
To constitute a structure impervious to thirst.
The mindless youth is burdened with the blame
Regarding chance assaults on chance itself
Concerning its own with perpetuating
The temporary
Converting the reality of flesh to a core belief
Of egotistic selflessness, immune to evolution.
Draw blood then soothe; the seeds of peace
Take root in conflict, loss and absence
Kill enough of yourself so the rest may grow
Lose enough of your god so the ape may find shelter
Never forget not to remember
And the path will turn into a way.
The savage truth is that the apotheosis we seek
Is still undeserved by our incoherent, limping psyche
And runs its humble course through avenues of tissue
Residing in our primate language, in our wet, raw tongue
And into sinew and muscle and tendon and nerve
This passing temple is itself the only idol it can hold.
For your skin is the conduit of will
For your words are the last true commandments
For the absence of evil is to acknowledge the flesh
The half-circle to reason: the means to a beginning
Of a kingdom that's come and will ever become;
So swallow the tail of your serpentine thoughts
For only a beast that is fed is truly your own.
