Those times, down in the mouth,
 moping around,
the sun,
 unabashed magnificence,
 glory-bound,
 bouquet spread over
  clouds
   and
  water-ways,
transfixes
and, but how,
 with all my shambles,
it shines on
 me.

Despite the horror
— sequestered within —
I feel the sun
 beneath dead skin;
I see light
 beyond scaled lids;
and press and press,
 with primordial wings,
to lose this exoskeleton.

God, you were the one to fear —
 the one cause worth sacrificing for.

What do you mean?
 “It’s all in your hands.”

What are you saying?
 “You wish for my fulfillment.”

For what use, my sacrifices?
 You don’t want me to sacrifice at all.

You’ve ruined all my plans.
 You’ve stolen my thunder.

Oh, and it is so embarrassing
 when you anoint my crown
 and stick the well-prepared
 fattened calf under my nose
 and lord it up with everyone.

You raining sunlight on the just
 and the unjust.

You don’t understand.
You are out of control.