Saturday, January 24, 2009


She drew sketches of God in her quieter moments. Wearing her straw houses close to his fist. Poison arrows cutting the paper. Confetti for all the graves waiting to be found.

The artist with her pencil digs into the silhouette. Broken locks on empty safes. The smirk. As she draws the map. Hell much closer to heaven than she ever would've guessed.

The monkeys with their sticks. All angry at the sky. It's raining again. Their fire is dead. The switch. On. Off. The labor of skin. As it takes me off. Slithers toward a fresh set of bones.

I'm a liar and a saint. Because each are the same.

This could be heaven. It could be hell. I don't know the difference.

But God will tell me to look closer. The differences are subtle. The edges are jagged. And I'm bored with the monkeys and all their violence.

Take off those eyes that pretend to see. Try on the glass. Fractions of God if youre careful with your arithmetic.

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