Street Gods


Anointed for burial.

You’ve been dead a while.

Can’t hear the street gods

you used to pay homage to.

Have you been domesticated?

Fallen out of touch?

Or maybe those old gods

never existed,

and you were just deceiving yourself.

Creating masters

to serve,

so that you didn’t have to

take responsibility

for all the shit you’ve done.


Makes me wonder, though.

If those street gods

are just inventions,

then why are there so many?

No end

to the multitude of our sins.

No end

to the multitude of our despair,

that we’re willing to create

a pantheon

of bloodthirsty deities

to imbibe our sins,

so that we can do more.

Hungry and devouring spirits.



Maybe I was wrong.

Maybe not an invention at all.

Perhaps those old street gods

are just a way

we dress up some wickedness

far older.

Something lurks in the dark,

nestled in the refuse

and the alley trash,

waiting for us to come looking

for a place to hide

from ourselves.


They wait,

welcoming with open arms.

Street gods,

with ancient names,

sigils, and old tongues

spray painted over and over.

A plea

to the darkness.

Found and lost.


and redemption.

You no longer hear

them calling anymore,

because you’re not out there,

hiding amongst the stones

and pavement,

and park benches.


New and better acolytes

have taken your place.

More and more,

the street gods call

and people hear.

Consider yourself fortunate.

Their altars

in the doorways

and dumpsters

overflow with blood.

The street gods

are as old

as our torments.



HG – 2022

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