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To Yakov Yurovsky, Broiling In Agony In Hell, A Spit Up His Rectal Sphincter
A typical Partier and Bolshevik,
and in this state that lacks class, a first class prick:
you boasted of shooting Nicholas, point blank.
Now, in the Cosmos of Christ's Sovereign Grace,
that starlight which, to you, is the flames of Hell
wherein you will eternally fill a place
of the very lowest---a dogturd's---rank
(your soul's anguish beyond my words to tell).
You will writhe in transfinite agony,
broiling in your own juices, relentlessly:
and this will never cease through eternity.
And Alexei, for example? Let me put
it to you this way: now he frolics, barefoot,
on Holy Ground, the forever Heavenly.
Starward-Led
