on the clay we noted more than half of
the grain had spoiled, and the copper
was of quite poor quality but
we were then too many miles from
the great cities and their gods so
we crossed three more mountains dug six
more wells made our offerings with
fresh water and old song and waited so
tired but so hopeful it might work
this time then rain the earth slides and
the flies and filth the sores boils and
strange diseases but we walked and
found a green land one cool spring and
never heard the horses approach
Tag: gods
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who wins the skirmish when no one dies
clever old fool you managed to chain one
of the oldest deathless ones whose job was
death which screwed up the works since he
couldn’t work so how can we eat when
a week later the chicken’s head
still begs for grain it cannot store or how
do we please these greatest and most
fickle gods when a hundred perfect
oxen with golden horns embossed with blood
cannot take their rest and the sheep slipping
on its intestines tomorrow shakes its
head and bleats at you again and through the
night so you see the boulder was justice
other animals 