III

there's a baby in the streets
I'm trying to flee
but he's talking to me

there's a kid at a dead end
just past infancy in the street
I'm trying to leave
but he's wrapped up in the rotting arms of a thief
calling to me
deceased flesh blanket keeping him warm
in this time of need

this child's diseased
chewing on his boils
uneasy mouth full of black
he's starving
bunch of stolen bread around him
but won't eat

O God why do you spite your creations
he's laying in a purloined bread basket
poisoned sirloin weeping
I can hear him talking
O God why did you smite me with these
reverberations of a child's voice
in my head

Oh god, he'll keep the maggots company
lay down beside them
like bread in a basket spilled and stale
crib-mates amongst crumbs
making crumbling crypts for sanity

Oh god, he's talking to me
"Sir please, I implore thee
I hear you're seeking Ostrapalis
I warn thee

My parents lived in larceny
but I can't steal away my fate
God's will be done and I obey
but you, you'll need a blade
to reach the city of the mind
you, you'll need to slice and flay"

kid, stop talking to me
you should be dreaming about shining things
and abundant days, teeming teats and lively ways
you'll never have
not prophecies, teething prophet
too young to walk, but wise enough to die

bounty-hounds baying
they're coming for me
he's right
I'm trying to flee but
I'll need a blade

still talking as I evade
hungry hunters and greedy knaves
"my parents were thieves
but only death can lift life
from the pockets of God"

Oh god