The Taste of Nothing

The flies rejoice
for chocolate and vanilla  
as summer sneers
to mock the myth of god  
    
Their treasure sprawls
stricken on the path  
where Death melts slowly  
over a priest's pink tongue  
    
Even heaven's sweetest dreams  
curdle quickly in the sun  
devotion to barren mysteries  
and the lie of a lifetime's mirage    
soon reduced by the roots of yew  
    
And so the humblest truth
rises hungry from the dark  
its scorn the taste of nothing  
dissolving all eternities
into dust