No more the air- / borne omens; no more the incensed prayers; no more the carcass / butchered at the altar.
(From “Elegy for the Deathless Gods” by Sherod Santos, Poetry, March 2026)

To this or that paradise of misrule
Is not where the road to Damascus leads.
Muster pandemonium at full bore,
Pitch fits and furies to the highest heavens
— Death to this or that son of a whore!
Vain fusillade. Foam of mouth. Rancor’s drool.
Swing low whose chariot over the ruins?
Which hemorrhoidal saint won’t tell his beads,
Come sweetly — any God! — to squat this stool?

(c) 2026 JMN — EthicalDative. All rights reserved