What Comes from Pipe End

There’s no rock to be built on here,
Where spews the pipe from god knows where

Grey muck in a ditch. Let’s watch it
And see what comes out of it next

And feel the rush we get when strange
Things that should not come from the ground,

Should not swim in the light of day,
Not be viewed by the likes of us,

Gush out in full view. Now look here,
Is that a hand-carved, DIY

God of the hearth sunk in ditch muck?
Let’s wipe off the dreck, have a look.

Wash well. Mind that you don’t get sick.
It is! But whose hearth god is this?

A hob with no clothes on? Frigg’s ghost
Cut in oak? Does it have a face?

Is it half a beast? A tossed doll?
Why is it all the things we make

Hint to us of what we wish not
To say or see the light of day?

It’s too late to put it back now.
Bad luck to drop it and walk off;

Worse luck to chuck it off a cliff.
Put that in your pipe and smoke it.