Where the Gods are Buried

They’re buried in my backyard.
Dragged to their grave in black bags of
Thought, zipped up with Mind.
Where the gods are buried,
with their spouses too,
lover and loved ones stare
unwillingly at a desert sky,
at a boat that travels their too.
Some of them I chopped into pieces.
Others I ate their flesh.
Others I mutilated their dead bodies
and carved meanings from their feet.
One I burnt in the fire of passion and
scattered the ashes over the ocean.
Another I sliced into 14 parts and
scattered unto the ends of the earth.
I’ve been compassionate.
Some of them I tortured before I gave
in to murdering them.
What possessed me to do these things?
Not the devils. They have no power.
Something far greater possessed me to
do so. Something I will never reveal.