How God Hates a Freeman

How God hates a freeman.
How suffering is his every rainbow
--Even when we poor ants
Find some infinitesimal way of being free
He sends a scourge, an insanity amongst us
	--Sudsy heads in turbans
	   hard hands anxious to cruxify
	   ready hammers and shiny nails
	   suicide bombers in clean veils
	   no dirt under their fingernails
	   ready to make love to God

The God who, ironically enough,
Is killing us in black batches,
By blood-mouthfuls, killing
And shaming us with his sharp scourge
--so clean, so new--