Rejected old words—like cripple
and faggot—are going
around biting their decrepit old lips
now that God
has been fully transmogrified
into Goodness.
And all the old superlatives—
father, son, and holy
spirit—have been recycled,
re-imagined—
as mother, as sister, as
paramour.
And the mind itself
has become a sixth
sense organ
that feels around empathically
for any obscurity
fermenting in the dark intestines
of the living. And no one bothers
to light that darkness
artificially anymore,
since they all understand:
it's a temporary fix—
the darkness always returns.
But during the nights,
the air isn't sweltering or thick.
The air is cool and clear
because the music
which fills it
is simple.
And in the daytime,
the sky is always a perfect
no-signal A/V monitor screen-kind
of blue, as if
to suggest—it's no longer here
to entertain them.
