FINGER OF GOD

Mind sculpts the strumpets of feathers
to make their seductive clay
into a scepter of lust
for touching the paradise of one's desires.

Imagining inside all the little gods
we can become,
using technology's magic wand
and reading our wizard's little black book of techno lovers
one can worship at divine.

Carving the lies of our immortality
in fool's gold ambition,
lifting up the hollow icons of solution defiantly
towards the sky of our illusions.

Creation in our veins
becomes an personification's
grotesque deliverance statue,
its meaning we invent
making up the scorecard and rules
from our vanity's fantasy victories
as we dance naked
before our shattered mirrors of delusion,
murmurs about end of the world
ignored,
while pretending our fingerprints
our heaven's master