The Upper

He turns and returns to the room
After having almost never left it
His beasts trailing after him for scraps
As he scratches behind their ears
Indulgently indulgently

And for all those who watch and wonder
Where this church service goes
And wait and wait on the doxology
Only about half will ever know
That the altar is altered in the likeness
Of that which serves itself like itself
Is going out of style

And teeth?
Perfect
And skin?
Like some great shining alabaster monument
To cause
And what it affects

There is no stink of human here
Heavenly host with the most
Just not this
And toying with the toys
You have very little choice

So you hold on tight to yourself
Gripping tight to yourself
Because the warming chills you

When he turns and returns to the room
After having almost never left it
His beasts trailing after him for scraps
As he scratches behind their ears
Indulgently indulgently

And utopia?
Yes
And cornucopia?
Like some six-course spread of cloy
And no one else says no to it
Ever ever says no to it