What a cruel act of necromancy-

To be led so-far-down,

The shining path.


To gaze upon the face; Merkaba,

Weightless and absolved.


Then, suddenly, summoned by the master-

Ordered to assume

That disheveled relic.


Wear that weathered face

In good humor again.


Greet the curious crowds with

A wrenched up

Toothless smile.


Shudders to rouse atrophy,

Out enervated muscle.


Eager to wash the sense of that stolen gift,

From cradles of

Massed meat.


And I should wonder, if he did

Secretly spite his modest savior?


Who was too absorbed-

In refute of gratitude

To notice, none is given.