how often
God gets trapped
inside his
own creation; his unconscionable
moods, his pure
and ethereal
mastery over all ideas—
all of that
gets tugged back inexorably
to the dirt,
weighed down
by the animal concept
of drag, which he invented.
And yet,
never on his way
to the ground does he
stab
with ineffable intent
to wound and
scar the planet—even as
its worship turns
to love and desire
for distraction—
for namelessness
still sits above
all need to harness a crisis,
and that which is
clever would
never prescribe
its own divorce
from that
which is kind.
