The clouds burst in praise of guns,
Especially when Cains rehearse
The ancient curse,
Then trumpeters trumpet the hearse
Of each brave son—
Circumcised and non.
God in heaven, who pours out in such fun,
When scorn answers in cold coin of scorn
Tooth for tooth, eye for eye.
From age to age so the show goes on—
The soul’s gaze fixed
On mirroring pools of blood.
The clouds burst in praise of guns
In praise of sons—
A red thread running through a hole in the lungs.
Lightning and thunder commend violence,
The charioteer winks approval, let
Shot answer shot.
English