A lament for Job,

And all those others in the grasp of this god.
A blossom lopped off the top,
Molding in the grassbit lawn.
I have tasted Solomons lock, and one day i will build a key to open it at last.
Coiled around it until then, I’m yet again myself.
Slitherthick and elegant, I’m dripping with ink,
Stained with graphite again.
Every morning I’m sweating out these poisons again,
A fever that never quite breaks.
Febrile and jubilant,
I sit on god’s throne and witness springtime, and tides of Gemini,
A confluence betwixt pollus and castor,
Ever conjoined as coiled snakes.